The Importance of Being Effie
by thegreatgizmo
Summary: Effie Trinket's canon account of the Hunger Games Trilogy, starting with the second Quarter Quell. I'll bet my buttons you'll enjoy it.
1. What Are Hunger Games?

**What Are Hunger Games?**

Yank. _Ouch. _Yank. _Ouch. _Yank. _Ouch._

"Effie, dear. Your hair simply will not go straight," cried the distinct tones of my mother.

Yank. _Ouch. _Yank. _Ouch. _Yank. _Ouch._

"I mean really, darling. Your hair needs to look proper. What will the neighbors think if they see you with messy hair?" the distress in her voice grew.

Yank. _Ouch. _Yank. _Ouch._ YANK. _Ouch…Ouch…Ouch! _

"Oh, Effie!" she cried out again. Her arms wrapped protectively around my stomach. My hair screamed for release after hours of flat-irons, mini-straighteners, shampoos, conditioners, and at one point, mayonnaise.

"Mommy, why are we off from school today?" I asked curiously.

"Because of the Games, stupid," answered my good-for-nothing brother, Alfie.

"Alfie, dear. Do not use the word stupid. It is not very becoming of you. In addition, it is rude. Manners are very, very, very important," crooned my mother.

"Mommy, can we play in the Games too?" I asked again.

"No, darling. They are purely for our entertainment. We watch, they play. How delightful!" her distress subsided in favor of enjoyment.

"Effie shouldn't get to watch the Games. She's too little," sneered my brother.

"Mommy, I'm six years old. I wanna watch too!" I cried in protest, spinning on my mother's lap to face her.

Her face. Years of the Capitol's power kept her young. Kept her sane. Her soft eyes gazed, lovingly. I could see the look of approval in her eyes. The look of pride.

"Yes, Effie. You may watch the Games. I'll wake you up from your nap in time to hear President Snow's announcement."

I jump to my feet and my mother takes my hand in hers. With perfect posture, she escorts me to my bedroom. My room reflects my personality. It's bubbly, bright, and safe. Perfect. I lay down to sleep and my mother offers a kiss. _Yes, _I think, _perfect. _

I dream of the Games. Bouncing balls, cheering people, and candy fill my mind. I smile in my sleep. The Games will be perfect. I can almost envision the winner, smiling and clean, running up the Capitol steps in the City Circle to accept the wonderful prize from the President. I decide I want to go one year, watch the Games live, maybe even marry a winner. My mother wakes me from my nap with a smile on her lips.

"Are you ready for the Games, Effie?" she asks, lifting me out of bed.

Minutes later, I'm settled in between my mother and father on our lavish couch, waiting for the Games to begin. The window outside our parlor seems more alive than the television. Cars, camera crews, and citizens flood the streets of the Capitol, all making their way to the City Circle to listen to the President's announcement.

"Oh, look!" squeals my mother as she grasps her hair to prevent it from falling off, "The President is here!"

I gaze intensely at the television, taking in the whole scene. President Snow, a young man with thin eyes, sits on a stage set in the middle of the City Circle. Suddenly, the anthem begins to play.

"Mommy, what's happening now?" I ask, not daring to move my eyes from the screen.

"Quiet, dear. President Snow is going to explain why the Games occur, and then explain the rules," she snaps quickly.

"This year is very special, kids," my father explains, "Every twenty-five years, they play a special game called a Quarter Quell. This marks the fiftieth Hunger Game and the second Quarter Quell."

"You said they. Who are they?" asks Alfie, enthralled by my father's words.

"They are the twelve districts of Panem," answers my father. "There are two players, or tributes, picked from each of the districts."

"Shh! It's starting!" shouts my mother, suddenly on her feet.

President Snow looks as if he should belong in the zoo. Odd, yet proud. My parents follow his ascent to the podium religiously. I feel proud watching him. Proud that I am grown up enough to watch the Games, to view the second Quarter Quell in history. I am proud to live in the Capitol.

"Good evening, citizens of Panem. We are gathered to celebrate the fiftieth Hunger Games, our second Quarter Quell. Lest we forget the Dark Days, the reason for the Games. It has been fifty years since the rebels incited a battle with the almighty Capitol. As a result, the Hunger Games sprang forth, reminding the rebels that their foolishness has cost them greatly. It is my honor to announce the condition for this special Game."

I struggled to understand the meaning behind the President's message. It sounded important-so important that I wanted to understand. I needed to understand. The President reached into a wooden box and pulled out an envelope with a 50 printed on the front. He opens the envelope and pulls out a square piece of paper.

"Here we go!" mother shouted again.

"On the fiftieth anniversary, as a reminder that two rebels died for each Capitol citizen, every district is required to send twice as many tributes."


	2. May The Odds Be Ever In Your Favor

**May The Odds Be Ever In Your Favor**

Our family sat in silence for about ten minutes, staring absently at the television as President Snow said a few more words, then promptly left the stage. My father looked over at my mother with a glance that seemed to question her, and she responded with a similar look. Together, they looked at Alfie and me.

"I just love you both so, so, so much," was all she could say.

"Mommy, what happens now?" I asked curiously.

"We wait, Effie. We wait. The Quarter Quell has begun," she responded, leaving her place on the couch and turning off the television.

"When do they choose the players?" asked Alfie, also getting up.

"Very soon, son. Then we bet on those who are reaped. The drawing pool for bets will be bigger than it's ever been, I can assure you that," replied my father.

I sat on the couch by myself, mulling over the events slower than anyone else does. Twice the players? What does that mean? Will the Quell last longer than expected? So many questions filled my head, but I settled for the vague explanation my parents gave. All in due time.

The next few months passed quickly from the reading of the card. Teachers in school discussed the reaping. They explained it as a lottery-type of event, where names were drawn out of reaping balls, and the corresponding tributes became contestants in the game. However, an unnatural feeling of excitement hovered about when the teachers talked about the game. We could hear them in private discussing the twist in the Quell. That this had made history. On one occasion, I discussed the Games with Alfie.

"Effie, they go into the arena and one comes out."

_What does he mean, one comes out? Where do the others go? And what will happen with twice the number of tributes?_ Unfortunately, he never said anything else on the manner, at least not in the months leading up to the reaping.

On the day of the reaping, we were off from school again. The teachers told us the day before that we were to watch the reaping with hopes to learn more about the Capitol. A form of elementary history. My mother brought Alfie and myself home and promptly went about decorating the house for the reaping.

"Manners, Effie. Manners, manners, manners!" she shouted repetitively at me as she cleaned.

My father came home before the reaping, and brought some friends along. I had never seen such strange creatures before. One man had a gold stencil pattern intricately woven around his body; his skin dyed an off-white hue. The other man sported a large, purple afro that protruded from his head like a cloud in the sky. My father dressed up for the occasion, donning a masquerade disguise, exploding with light blues, reds, and greens.

My mother dragged me into her bedroom and I gagged from the smell. Something was burning. She forced me into a chair in front of her vanity. She undressed briskly and forced on some earrings that featured peacock feathers as their main attraction.

"What do you think of my dress?" she smiled with pride as she pointed at the bedroom door.

A slender, rosemary dress with holes cut seductively hung there. The collar of the dress rolled into an 'S' shape, shifting all the way to the bottom near the hem. The sleeves or lack thereof, extended out like points along the collar line. She walked to the door and carefully squeezed into the dress, twirling in front of her three full-wall sized mirrors. When she spun to face me, I gasped. She looked delicate. Seductive. Perfect.

She approached me and began to brush my hair with that fine-toothed comb. Knots threatened to snag on my locks, but she bustled through with relative ease.

"Effie, dear. Your hair simply will not go straight," she admitted.

I thought back to the reading of the card, when she uttered these exact words. Verbatim. Then it struck me. The repetition of the Games. This event was going to play a heavy part of my existence. Every single year. They symbolized a ravish occurrence. They brought my family together. They provided a source of commonality. The Games were all anyone who was anyone talked about. The key to popularity lay within the Games. I knew at that moment that I wanted to be part of the Games.

My mother stared at my hair, concerned with its complexity. Then she got a bold idea. She walked over to her closet with tears starting in her eyes. She reached high up into the closet and brought down a small box. Walking over to me, she began to cry.

"Mommy, why are you crying?" I inquired. I turned to face her.

"Oh, Effie. I planned to give this you in years to come. It is an honor, a privilege, a duty. You will look proper for the Games. Perfect," she cried out.

She opened the box and inside laid a powder blue wig. The small artificial locks lay in heaps, frozen with delicacy in a noble way. The wig flew out of the box at the hands of my mother and I saw pink bows sewn into the strands. Beauty frozen in such an odd hairpiece. With all the care in the world, she set the wig onto my head and adjusted the natural hair in accordance. In that moment, we became eternal.

"Oh, Effie," was all she managed to say.

We stared into the vanity, mother and daughter, for minutes before snapping into action. I was glorified, pious, and perfect. That wig contained tradition, a sense of duty with what must be done, what had to be done, and should be done in the future. The wig symbolized the Games.

When the pampering finished, I took a hard look at myself in the tri-mirrors. I was a diva. At six years old, my powder blue wig redefined who I was. My mother's elegant hand had provided me with a dress of magnificent proportions. Gargantuan, really. It was a pea-green piece accompanied with light gloves. Together, we left the bedroom, holding hands. The reaping was calling.

"Hurry, the reaping! It's starting!" shouted Alfie from the living room.

The men, my brother included all hung about room in a glorious manner. The room, complete with my mother and myself, was picturesque. It was something you would see defined in the dictionary as perfect. The decorations my mother placed reflected the important atmosphere. The reaping soon became synonymous in my mind with Christmas.

We took our designated positions on the couch and raised the volume on the television. The broadcasting, similar to that of the reading of the card, was national. Everyone watched Panem in its glory, its finest hour. The reading of the card played yet again, to remind all citizens the condition of our Quarter Quell. My mother looked over at me, reflecting my smile in her pride, and said the words that live with me to this day:

"May the odds be ever in your favor."


	3. Far Away

**Far Away**

The words hit me with a sudden impact. _May the odds be ever in your favor. _Continually, they played over again in my mind, daring me to let them go. In this phrase, I found solace-a sort of pseudo-comfort that reminded me that luck was a luxury!-nay a privilege to my family and our position. We owned a coveted spot in the social hierarchy of Panem, so high that the odds would _always _be in my favor.

Thus began the reaping. Forty-eight children, slightly older than me at the time, were chosen to participate. District 1 tributes practically lunged forward at the opportunity. Two boys from District 2 almost had it out right there in front of the Justice Building! On went the reaping, the names indistinguishable amongst the uproar from the citizens. My father, ever attentive, jotted down all the tributes' names and respective district numbers. His friends made slight off-color comments about the female tributes from District 7.

I was awestruck. _Children play in these games! _In District 11, a small girl who couldn't have been older than 12 rose to the stage, much to the delight of my father's friends.

"Look at that one. She's ripe for the picking," they hooted and hollered.

I noticed a distinct difference in the appearance of the later tributes. What started as elegant specimens of soldiers, fine tuned with their blow-up muscles and smug confidence, slowly turned into skeletons. The living dead began to rise and come forward like a séance. To tell the truth, I was horrified.

"Mommy, why do they look so weird?" I questioned over the roaring that was my father's friends.

"Hush, dear. Do not be rude. They simply live a different lifestyle. Odd though, isn't it?" she stared at the television, as if she were possessed.

"Finally, District 12," sighed my father, "I'm running out of room."

"Shouldn't even bother taking their names," commented his friend, "District 12 tributes are the first to die."

_Die…_Die…**Die…**

"Die?"

At six years old, I knew very little about death. I once had a bird, a very elegant creature with a mixture of bright, colorful wings. Mother allowed me ten minutes with the bird ever day. When I began school, I would make time for this creature to enlighten me with its splendors. However, our time was fading. Upon my return, one rainy afternoon, I did not see the bird. I could not hear its chirping-the blessed sounds that filled my young heart so. I asked my mother, tears streaming down my face from withdrawal, where had it gone. Away, she told me. Far away.

"Ladies first," the television brings me back.

Tears threaten my eyes. These children are going away-far, far, far away. Just like my bird. But, surely, nothing bad would happen to children. It's all smoke and mirrors. Real life would never subject itself to these horrors.

"Maysilee Donner."

My eyes find her in the audience. Her name echoes on my lips as if I were the one calling her. I see that dull spark light, that sudden second of realization. The moment hangs in the air, suspended with the knowledge of a foreboding doom. She is a beautiful girl, blonde and brave in the way she ascends to the stage, leaving her companions behind. One of the girls, her former confidante, desperately clutches at the memory of her. The other girl holds her steady, a looking of knowing on her face.

The trio has struck an interesting chord. I compare myself to Maysilee Donner. I am not a tribute, and I never will be. Ever. I will never know what these districts look like in real life. I do not know where she will go now, what she will do, and if I will see her again. Or, if her friends will see her again. She is going to go far away. But, I need to know where she is going.

"She doesn't look like a District 12 tribute," sneered the purple afro.

"She doesn't look like she could kill a fly," scoffed off-white.

"She may be a person of interest," stated my father to his friends.

At his comment, they fell silent. _Who were they to judge her?_ Father wrote the name of the next boy called, and then shot me a smile.

"Effie, would you like to help me bet on the tributes? I'm sure you could pick a winner," he smiled with confidence in his eyes.

"And out final District 12 tribute, Haymitch Abernathy."

Everyone turned their gaze back to the television to see the lucky boy take the stage. Oh, boy-what an understatement! The camera pans over to a young man with the ghost of a smirk on his lips. Dark, dangerous hair spurts forth in curls. He looks strong, very muscular-none of the artificiality displayed in the Capitol for looks. The camera focuses in on his face.

Those eyes.

Grey and bright, they symbolize confidence, power, wisdom, and courage. Everything to come can be seen here. This man knows all there is to know. I have such a hunger to know. A need to know. I will find out. The odds are in my favor.

The room has gone silent with the conclusion of the reaping. My father gathers his list with forty-eight names of tributes, forty-seven of which will soon be far, far, far away. Mother scowls at the mess my father's friends have made and with a huff that sounds an awful lot like "Bad manners!" she begins to frantically clean. Everything goes silent and I am still staring at the television.

Then, Alfie laughs from across the room, "I think Effie has a crush."


	4. I Choose You

**I Choose You**

_Crush? _As if. I simply took notice of his powerful, captivating, and completely heart-stopping features. Nothing crush-worthy there. How silly. Ridiculous, actually. Hysterical to boot. And while I silently laugh about Alfie's assumption, I find I am alone. My mother comes back into the parlor upon my realization and shoos me away.

"Effie, dear. I need to clean up this mess and I am in no mood for any lolly-gagging."

I get up to leave and my mother brushes off my dress. She instructs me to put it in my bedroom, so she can fold it after her cleaning escapade. The wig, however, should be placed with the upmost care on her vanity. Walking to her bedroom, I try to understand more about the reaping. The concept of other districts is nothing short of an absolute shock. I never imagined that there would be others, outside of the Capitol.

Gently, I place the wig on my mother's vanity and turn to leave the room. Before I step outside, something catches my eye. My father has left his list of tributes on his desk. Cautiously, I tiptoe over to the list and take a gander at the forty-eight names. _Haymitch Abernathy. Maysilee Donner. Haymitch Abernathy. Maysilee Donner. _The names soundly resonate in my head, threatening to explode. I turn to leave, but I am no longer alone.

"Scoping out the competition, I see," says my father, stepping into the bedroom, "I knew you would love the Games. Alfie does not seem to take as great as an interest in them as you have. He views them as a national pastime, a sport of sorts. To you and me, however, it's something much bigger."

Wordlessly, I look at him and question the meaning of his statement. He seems to enjoy watching me ponder over his words and points to the list.

"Tomorrow, I am going to put up a hefty amount of money on the betting pools. People from all over the Capitol will lay thousands on the line in favor of these forty-eight children. You, Effie, are going to help me pick a winner."

He smiles and places a hand on my head. I smile back politely and leave. On my way to my bedroom, I hear my mother frantically cleaning, still screaming about "Bad manners!" I take off the dress and get into bed, awaiting the arrival of my mother to fold and put the dress away. Moments later, she makes her entrance, her wig leaning heavily to the right. For a split second, the room stays quiet.

"Mommy, what happens now?" I ask in a quiet voice.

"Now, the tributes come here, to the Capitol. They stay here to prepare for the Games," she answers, her back turned to me as she folds.

"Will we get to see them? In real life?" I eagerly question.

"Perhaps. However, the time has come for you to go to sleep," comes the worn-out drawl, "Goodnight, dear."

A kiss on the cheek. My head hits the pillow. Out like a light.

The Hunger Games. The Hunger Games. The Hunger Games. They captivate my dreams. Over again, I see Maysilee Donner shy away from her friends, boldly take the stage, and stand in front of her district. Repetitively, I see Haymitch Abernathy in all his glory, that ghost of a smile on his lips, make his ascent toward the stage. This duo has hit me hard.

The next day brings talk of the Games. In the news, the future events are dissected, piece by piece, with every prediction of every action. My family discusses the Games non-stop. In school, we discuss the reaping and a strong encouragement to watch the Games in their entirety springs forth. On my way out of school, I hear two older girls discussing the tribute train that arrived moments before.

"I saw him out of the window. You know that strong one from Four? No, not the ugly one, the strong one."

The tributes are in town. I take careful note of the ebb and flow of Capitol citizens. They appear in a daze, pointing and laughing to the City Circle. I know without knowing that the train station resides close by. That the giant rock formation holds a tunnel that connects the Capitol to the rest of Panem. When I get home, live footage from the station plays on our television set. My mother watches anxiously, letting us know what districts have arrived, and more importantly, what they are wearing. As Seven pulls in, I hear my father arguing with Alfie.

"Father, it's not fair that Effie gets to help you. I should help you," Alfie spits in disapproval.

"You've had your chances, son. You have shown no interest in the follow-up of the Games, nor have your choices paid off," my father adds in rebuttal.

"And you think Effie will do better?" he howls, obviously upset.

"I don't think. I know."

Alfie storms into the room occupied by my mother and myself. He shoots me a dangerous glance, almost hateful, and slams the front door. My mother, shocked at his impolite departure, follows him, her lips pursed tight in anger.

"Effie, come help me pick out tributes," my father appears with a grin on his face.

I follow silently. His strides unreachable by my small steps. Intimidation should not be a substitution for embarrassment or fright. He waits in his bedroom and offers me a seat. I accept and look at those names, splayed out as if I were picking from a menu.

"Who, Effie? Who do you choose?" he waits in excitement.

"I choose Maysilee Donner and Haymitch Abernathy."


	5. From Coals To Pearls

**From Coals to Pearls**

My father gives me a look of disbelief. He obviously does not favor the District 12 tributes.

"Are you sure? You don't like any of the Careers?" he asks quizzically.

"Maysilee and Haymitch," I repeat.

My father laughs and leaves the room. Where he goes, I do not know. I immediately head for the window, hoping to catch a glance of a tribute train rolling into the Capitol. Citizens are still heading over toward the rock structure, so I assume the trains will arrive shortly. As I turn back to the television, Alfie runs in through the front door.

"Effie! The train station is packed! Let's go and watch the tributes arrive," he practically pulls me out of the house.

We run through the streets of the Capitol and I take note of the vibrant blues, greens, pinks, and reds that seem to radiate off every surface. Large, god-like structures hover over the city. Luxurious. Alfie pulls me along the streets and we slowly entangle in the crowd. Our hands separate for a brief second and in a panicked frenzy, I struggle to grab hold. Soon, I'm shoved by camera crews, trampled by Games advocates, and yelled at by drunken men.

"Effie, look!" Alfie points over the spectrum of people crowding the train station.

I look over and see a tribute trolley pull up to the station. Out step a handful of brightly dressed Capitol attendants. A man and a woman who stare about the city with a look of knowing swiftly follow them. A glance of familiarity. A bright, cheery male escort follows and I recognize him as a pseudo-celebrity. At the end of the line walk four children whom I recognize as the District 11 tributes. All of them are dark-skinned, under-fed, and have a glance of hopelessness in their eyes.

Something about seeing the tributes in real life causes me to gasp. It's almost as if they were aliens from another world. They sport no fashionable clothing, no vibrant colors, and definitely no cheer. Like the living dead, the tributes drag themselves off the train station platform.

"Hey, District 11! Over here! Look this way!" yell countless camera crews, flashing lights in the faces of the surrounding mob.

The tributes remain on their unwinding path, never once glancing at the camera crews. Clearly, our splendor has no effort on them, those ungrateful, malicious creatures. As they pass by me, I harbor a newfound hatred for them. _How inconsiderate! You're in my city, my world, and you can't ever muster a glance? Ungrateful imbeciles!_

"Hey, District 11. How long do you think you'll make it?" asks one drunk man.

The female tributes continue on, but the male tributes stop. One boy, a little bigger than his companion, eyes the drunkard with a curious glance. His fellow tributes places a dark hand on the shoulder of the afflicted, then walks away. The boy remains at a standstill, daring the drunkard to continue.

"I don't think you'll even last a day," laughs the perpetrator.

He turns to leave. The moment afterward stains the impressionable like a gunshot wound. The tribute lunged over the Capitol citizens, thrashing his skinny arms about wildly, hoping to wring the neck of the drunkard. In response, the man simply shrugged his shoulders, laughed again, and continued on his way. Two Capitol attendants seized the boy by the arms and twisted him forcefully away from the crowd. The boy shot everyone a look of hatred, a burning desire that screamed death for anyone who dared to mock him.

"Barbarian," spat the drunkard with a parting wave of his hand.

I clung to Alfie with desperation, terrified in one sense, but astonished with fury in another. This boy, this _barbarian_, he challenged us. He took no notice of our gracious splendors, our efforts to provide a sort of comfort has been for naught.

"Come on, Effie. Let's go home. I don't want to get into anymore trouble," whispered Alfie, dragging at my arm.

"No. I want to see District 12!" I cried out in protest.

"Come on," he repeated.

I stood my ground. Alfie attempted to drag me against my will. I fought his attempts for a while, until I gave in. He pulled and tugged me all the way home, despite my protests. By the time we got home, I was so distressed that I ran to my bedroom and stayed there all day.

By night, I have not let go of my anger toward the District 11 boy. My mother corrals me for the chariot rides. The next big, big, big stop on our road to the Hunger Games. Only, she provides me with a surprise.

"Effie how would you like to come with us to see the chariot rides live?" she asks, suppressing a grin.

I howl with excitement and jump into her arms. This morning was only as small slice of what the pre-Games had to offer. Tonight will be the real thing. Deciding not to tell my mother of the train station fiasco, I accept her offer.

We make our way to her bedroom so she can properly adjust the powder blue wig. My mother dons a similar blue wig and makes a joke about matching. Her evening gown is a silver piece, emblazed with real diamonds along the collar line. The cut in the dress creeps up to mid-thigh level and threatens to expose her if she gets careless. She has fashioned me a dress of silver and gold. A puffy skirt with a tight blouse that accentuates everything. I have to be the most fashionable six-year old that the Capitol has ever seen.

"Effie, darling. You look ravishing. Let us keep in mind the three P's. Prim. Proper. Perfect. Mind your manners," her directions are law.

My parents and I head out to the City Circle. Alfie, as per usual, has made us late. He runs out of our house with a handsome suit and thick eyeliner and joins our family on our voyage. When we get close to the City Circle, I take the hands of my parents, knowing all too well that I will be lost without them. Because of Alfie, we're late. The City Circle has filled in record time, showing no opening. Together, we huddle on the outskirts of the circle, watching in awe.

District 10 passes by upon our arrival. The tributes, all four of them, look scared. Weak. Useless. District 11 does nothing less than infuriates me at their passing. The crowd audibly hisses at the lunging boy, recognizing him from the spectacle he has made out of himself. Fool.

District 12 concludes the chariot ride. We stare with awkward glances at the tributes. They sport coal miner outfits that scream obscenities. Complete with headlamps. As if to light the way to the City Circle. The audience suppresses a laugh at the tributes expense, and my father shoots me another quizzical glance.

Smiling, he picks me up and lifts me onto his shoulders. I get a better glimpse, and notice the beauty within the coals. I notice Maysilee Donner has an inner beauty that I've overlooked. Strong and confident, she waves to the Capitol, seemingly appreciative of the splendors she has received.

"Aren't they lovely, Effie?" asks my mother with tears in her eyes.

Silently, I nod. The audience, on the other hand, ravishes on and on about District 1.

"You know, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls," my father replied quietly, his strong arms and shoulders holding me up.

_Pearls? Like hidden treasures. I can see that now. _As I'm pondering this metaphor, I notice Haymitch in the back of the chariot. He's almost sulking, but I've mistaken his look for a sneer. He seems disgusted. Or quite bored. Possibly both. When he passes by, someone calls to him, a female reporter. Then, Haymitch looks right past her and into my eyes. Then he blows me a kiss.


	6. Tomorrow

**Tomorrow**

My heart beats quicker for only a second. My father brings me back to the ground and holds tightly onto my hand. The chariot passes by, and Maysilee Donner throws out a lasting farewell wave. Capitol citizens cheer loudly as large, panoramic screens that hang from buildings recap the chariot rides.

"Mommy, what now? What's next?" I squeal, trying to steal a glimpse of the chariots.

"The tributes train for a while. The next you'll see any of them is in their interview," she shouts, but I can barely manage to hear her.

"You're forgetting the scores," my father adds, "The tributes perform for the Gamemakers-the people who design the arena and its surprises. Their scores from the private sessions are shown the night before the interviews."

"Ah, silly me. Of course, dear," my mother laughs.

"Who are the Gamemakers?" Alfie asks loudly as to be heard over the roar of the crowd.

"A committee of Capitol citizens who design the arena. They are hired early, so early in fact that they might already be planning the fifty-first Hunger Games," my father added.

_Fifty-first? We haven't even seen the arena for the Quarter Quell! _I am astonished at the amount of planning that goes into running the Hunger Games. As a strong advocate of organization, the concept of planning and executing the Hunger Games catches my interest. While Capitol children never go into the arena, there are plenty of positions that we can take that deal with the Games. We had a whole unit in school on Capitol occupations in the Hunger Games field.

We return to our home and there we stay. Every day, I get more and more excited for the interviews. We get further on the road to the Quarter Quell, as every commercial on television reminds us. Banners that hang in the City Circle scream at citizens to 'Cast your vote for which tribute will win the Quell'. Truthfully, the fanfare and ceremony fuels my desire and consumes my mind. Alfie, on the other hand, could care less about the pre-Games ceremonies.

"I don't think it matters!" he screamed when asked.

The day that the scores are released, I run home from school as fast as a Capitol tribute train.

"Are they up yet?" I yell aloud.

Silence meets me. _There's always someone here. I cannot be home alone. Strange. _

"Hello?" I call out nervously.

I walk into our parlor and see the television sitting passively. I turn it on to provide some sort of liveliness to our otherwise deserted house. For moments, I contemplate going next-door and staying there. My hands are shaking. I've never been one to get nervous at nothing. Maybe the foreboding silence scares me.

"Anyone home?" I call out again.

Then I hear a noise from the kitchen. My hand flies over my mouth to ensure silence. I shut my eyes in fear. A cold sweat begins to creep down the back of my school outfit. I gulp and walk toward the noise. Grabbing the first big object I can reach, a lamp, I continue toward the kitchen. When I am right in front of the doorway, the light snaps on.

"Happy Birthday!" cheers my mother, father, and Alfie.

_Happy birthday. Happy. Birthday. _The words resonate inside my head like a cannon blast in a rubber room. I almost relieve myself. Instead, I drop the lamp. It shatters on the ground with classy, porcelain shards flying everywhere.

"Effie, dear. Come away from there this instant!" orders my mother, abandoning any pretense of birthday humor.

"Come look at your cake!" chuckles my father.

He guides me over to a handsome red-velvet cake decorated with seven candles and icing that elegantly shapes the border. Looking closer, I notice that that the cake reads 'Happy Birthday Effie' in metallic gold lettering. A bold 'Happy Hunger Games' resonates under it. The rest of the cake features chariots riding about the bottom border.

"You're finally seven! Now I can talk to you at school," smiles Alfie.

_That doesn't even make sense. _Anyway, I grin from ear to ear. Capitol pastries are Panem's best, undoubtedly. My father cuts the cake into small, manageable pieces and gives me the biggest slice.

"Do not get any of that on the carpet, television, floor, couch, parlor walls," begins my mother, "Eat with your fork, not your hands. You are not a ruffian. Small, delicate pieces. Keep good posture."

I nod robotically and walk into the parlor. My family who has dictated the rules for the remaining pieces of cake joins me. Alfie yields a sizably piece and turns away from my mother to lick the icing.

"Alfie. Use a fork. You're not a ruffian," I say loudly enough for my mother to hear.

She praises me and shoots Alfie a look of disapproval. We all laugh and my father changes the channel to the tribute scores. We catch the last few minutes of a recap of the chariot rides, then commentators-who have captivated Capitol audiences since the Dark Days (har, har), announce the scoring.

A tribute may receive a score of 1-12 based on performance in their private training sessions with the Gamemakers. The Career tributes tend to score in the higher ranges, everyone else averaging middle numbers.

Districts 1, 2, and 4 score a solid nine apiece. All the other districts manage a range of 4-7. Maysilee Donner yields a seven. Haymitch receives a nine.

"Look at those numbers, Effie. He'll be a target, I assure you," says my father.

He records the numbers of the tributes in his notebook, careful to make comments about the tributes we have chosen.

"Do we get to see what the tributes did?" I ask eagerly, eyeing Haymitch's picture with pride.

"Unfortunately, no," says my father, "However, you can bet your buttons that they'll be brought up in the interviews tomorrow night."

We listen to the commentators make more observations at the tributes expenses. I see them as off-color jokes, designed to make Capitol citizens agree with their views. My father and mother laugh at appropriate times, and Alfie tries to follow along.

This moment, eating birthday cake, sitting with my family, watching the pre-Games, reminds me how lucky I am to live in the Capitol. When my father and mother put me to sleep and whisper "Happy birthday, we love you," I smile into my pillow. Tomorrow, I will get birthday presents. Tomorrow, the interviews will commence. I just cannot wait for tomorrow.


	7. Calm Before The Storm

A little late for a disclaimer, but since I have actual quotes from Catching Fire in this segment, I'll go ahead and tell you that Suzanne Collins owns the series, not me.

Also, this project is the one thing getting me through this semester.

* * *

><p><strong>Calm Before The Storm<strong>

I wake up with a positive outlook for things to come. The sun is shining brightly over the large buildings of the Capitol, causing a rainbow to appear from the refraction of the colors. _What a perfect day for the interviews! _My mother is jauntily dancing around the kitchen, cleaning the floor.

"Good morning, darling. Isn't today just gorgeous?" she asks merrily.

"We should go on a picnic!" I suggest.

"What a splendid idea! Of course, we'll need napkins, a table cloth, dishes, food," she begins, "Dare I say a parasol?"

My father strolls into the kitchen with joy. He comments on how lovely the weather outside looks. My mother tells him about my picnic idea, and he responds with enthusiasm. I rouse Alfie, much to his dismay, and force him to venture on our escapade. Within thirty minutes of my initial suggestion, our family heads for a remote part of the Capitol, away from the buildings.

We set up our picnic in the common square. The square is a place for citizens to gather about on luscious days such as this and rejoice in frivolity. Tables, swing-sets, gazebos, and trails fill the square with entertainment. Some come here to just relax and look at the sky.

"Look at those people," gawks my mother.

A group of four stands in the west gazebo filming a movie. The star, or main speaker from what I can tell, wears an expensive dress that seems to consist of nothing but bubbles. Her hair includes a deep magenta undertone, but primarily shines golden. In short, she is stunning.

"What do you think they're doing?" Alfie wonders as he pays special attention to the star.

"Is the Hunger Games ritual?" I question my father excitedly.

"It could be. She may be a stylist, getting inspiration for the interview costume if she is making one. She could be a mentor, or an escort, just getting some fresh air. The Training Center is fairly close by, you know," comments my father.

He points to a structure not too far in the distance. The windows repel any light that comes its way, almost as if the surface were a mirror. It shines as golden as the woman's hair.

"What happens in there?" Alfie points at the Training Center.

"The tributes live and train there until they depart for the Games. Usually, they stay with their mentor from their district, their assigned escort, and a few Avoxes," replies my father.

"Avoxes. Hideous creatures," sneers my mother.

"Avoxes?" I question with a hint of surprise in my voice.

"They're servants or traitors who have committed a crime against the Capitol. They lose their tongues as punishment for their heinous actions," explains my father.

Alfie and I share a glance of discomfort. My mother seems to scowl at the Training Center, the image of Avoxes circulating her conscious. _What sort of crimes would one commit against the Capitol? _

The woman with the fabulous apparel emits a laugh that echoes about the gazebo. A spunky young man featuring dark green hair picks up the woman and twirls her around. _This man. What a glorious, fierce creature. _He seemed to contain all the splendor of the Capitol in his person.

"Caesar Flickerman!" shouts my mother simultaneously with my father who in turn states his name in a dignified manner.

"Who?" asks Alfie and me.

"He's the interviewer for the Games," explains my father, evidently losing interest in Caesar Flickerman.

"He's only the best-looking man in Panem! Minus your father, of course," my mother adds quickly.

A closer look at Caesar Flickerman shows eyes with a bright verve and lids that seemed to shake off magic at every blink. His lips grinned into a full, sincere smile. It differed from the normal, uptight smile so commonly seen through the Capitol.

Our picnic concluded with a spontaneous battle against some golden squirrels for the remaining pieces of my birthday cake. Defeated, we return to our home to watch the live interviews. Along the way, my father insists that his friends should come over. Reluctantly, my mother concedes.

Come nightfall, my family and father's friends sit around the parlor. The announcers take careful note to announce the prep teams, stylists, escorts, mentors, and finally, tributes. Caesar Flickerman appears in a sparkling blue suit, his eyes wide with excitement. Make-up emphasizes his already fabulous features, immortalizing him for Panem's sake.

We learned a lot about the tributes from the interviews. Some were fearless in their pursuit of victory. Some expressed fears. One girl from 8 cried. My father, the scholarly drunk by this point, took sloppy notes on his Career picks. My mother stared at Caesar Flickerman intently. Alfie fell asleep by the time the females from District 3 sat down.

The interviews proved informative and interesting. However, I held my undivided attention for one interview in particular. _Haymitch. _He sat in the very last seat on the stage, which had to be enlarged due to the gross number of tributes. Wearing a handsome suit apparently made of coal dust, as the audience finds out, he strides to the stage with a smirk on his face.

"Haymitch Abernathy! The final tribute chosen in our second ever Quarter Quell! How are you feeling?" booms Caesar Flickerman.

"I could care less," responds Haymitch appearing bored.

"So, Haymitch, what do you think of the Games having one hundred percent more competitors than usual?" Caesar displays perfect presentation, posing for the camera and giving Haymitch a decent amount of respect.

"I don't see that it makes much difference. They'll still be one hundred percent as stupid as usual, so I figure my odds will be roughly the same."

_May the odds be ever in your favor. _Haymitch nods as I think of these words and the audience loses it. They cheer, clap, hoot, and holler for Haymitch. My father shoots me an approving look.

They continue a banter that resembles mockery and lecturing. Halfway through the interview, Caesar asks if he has a girl back home in 12. He responds "What it to you?", but by the half smile the camera catches, I know the answer is yes. Something deep inside me burns for a second, and my face turns red. Alfie shoots me a ridiculing glance from across the room.

"Snarky fellow, isn't he?" sneers one of my father's friends.

"Well, thank you, Haymitch," Caesar places a hand on his back, "And good luck to you!"

Haymitch offers a half wave to the enthusiastic audience, shakes Caesar's hand, and returns to his seat. The anthem plays and the television program moves into the post-interview commentary.


	8. Let The Fiftieth Hunger Games Begin

**Let The Fiftieth Hunger Games Begin**

The sun rises on the morning of the Games and anyone can feel the heated anticipation radiating through the streets. All the children across Panem will stay home from school until we have a victor. Some Games last days others can take weeks. According to my father, one Game lasted two months. Today, the tributes will go into the arena. Forty-eight go in, one comes out.

The betting pools overflow with votes for impressionable candidates. My father received his receipt with our tributes names this morning. He has voted for a District 2 boy and a District 4 girl. I have chosen Maysilee Donner and Haymitch Abernathy. On the news, reporters tell the Capitol that this Quarter Quell had the most citizen participation to date. Well, with twice the candidates, there are twice the gamblers waiting to watch them die.

"Up, up, up! It's going to be a big, big, big day!" rouses my mother.

Her choice of simple apparel surprises me. Normally, flamboyant fashion and eccentricity rule her wardrobe choices, but today a simple white dress must suffice. She does not even wear a wig. My mother hands me a light pink dress with simple cuts designed for comfort. Then I gaze outside while she gently runs a comb through my hair.

"My, you've grown," comments my mother.

We sit in harmony and listen to the fanfare on the streets. Capitol citizens rejoice with the beginning of the Games, wishing a merry this and happy that. My hair feels smooth, a glossy curtain that hangs down near my ears. My mother escorts me to the parlor and bids me to clear the small table that sits in front of the couch.

"Remember, dear. Manners, etiquette, prim, proper, perfect," she reminds me.

"Where are the tributes going?" I ask curiously, placing a bowl onto our dining room table.

"Ask your father, darling. He's the real expert on the Games," she chimes merrily.

"Ask me what?" my father enters the room.

"Effie would like to know where the tributes go to begin the Games," recites my mother.

"The tributes are taken by hovercraft to the arena, wherever that may be. They wait with their stylists until the time comes. Then, they take their place on a launch pad where they rise into the arena."

I imagine for a brief second that I am a tribute. I have just come from the Training Center via hovercraft and will now enter the arena, which I may never leave. The solitary confinement of my predicament, unique only to those who will experience what is to come. The uplifting sensation that leads to my doom. Or my victory.

"Is it on yet?" Alfie walks into the parlor.

I check the television and view commentators making notes on the betting pools. The show will begin any second. The family gathers in the usual place to watch. We wait for upwards of ten minutes. Our screen shows a launch tube, clearly to demonstrate a tributes' point of view. The camera raises with the tribute and excitement floods my body.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" Caesar Flickerman's voice reigns supreme, "Let the Fiftieth Hunger Games begin!"

The arena is beautiful. Paradise. The tributes stand about a circle facing a giant, golden horn. The horn sits on top of a luscious green meadow with flowers protruding from random angles. Visually, the arena must be heaven. Tributes gawk wide-eyed at their surroundings, forgetting briefly, where they are.

I try to locate Haymitch, but lose sight of him. Maysilee Donner, however, captures my full attention. She seems to have tears in her eyes. Whether she feels fear, awe, or a combination of both, I never find out. The camera quickly shows an aerial shot of the arena, carefully displaying a white mountain and forests.

"Here we go!" says my father.

The gong sounds. Half of the players stand still, examining the sky. _Move, idiots! _They sit there, unaffected, as if they came on a vacation. That ignorant boy from District 11 catches my eye. He simply looks up as a Career tribute slams him to the ground. Quickly, I spot Haymitch running for the horn. He snatches a backpack off the ground. Grabbing a knife off the grass, he makes for the forest.

The camera lingers on the horn for the majority of an hour. My father explains that the horn, the Cornucopia-as he calls it, contains a vast amount of the fighting. Careers pick apart weak tributes, maiming the competition ferociously. The ignorant boy dies with an axe to the head. One girl is annihilated before she has even stepped off her plate.

The killing has caused a notable change in my family. My father watches delicately, expressing no sign of glee, yet no look of disgust. My mother, on the other hand, hides her face during every fatality.

"That's someone's son or daughter," she says quietly.

Alfie has turned a sick shade of green by the time ten tributes lay dead on the ground. I find myself experiencing a wicked sort of excitement. No, I am not happy that children have died. I simply enjoy the action, the fast-paced combat that sets my nerves on end.

We view the smarter tributes, the ones who got away. Far from the action, recuperating from the horror that has become the Cornucopia. At one point, Maysilee is shown hiding behind a tree to avoid confrontation. Haymitch has run into the forest, away from the mountain. He continues through the forest at a quick pace, never slowing.

Commentators keep us informed with who lives and who dies. I begin to question whether or not the Games will ever end. The battle at the Cornucopia rages on, many tributes going on hours of fighting.

"What do we do?" I ask my father, never moving my eyes off the screen.

"We wait, Effie. We wait and we watch."

Hours pass and the sun begins to set. Maysilee Donner reveals a backpack that she's picked up from the Cornucopia and looks through its contents. She pulls out a red bowl, dried beef, and a straw with pointy darts. Haymitch carries his knife in one hand, his other hand protecting the backpack. Come nightfall, the tributes set up camp in their respective locations, some choosing trees and others making fires.

The battle at the Cornucopia ends with a pack of Careers leaving victorious. Loudly, a cannon blast goes off.

"What's that for?" I interject, my voice cracking from hours of silence.

"It counts the dead tributes. One blast for every tribute."

Eighteen. There are eighteen blasts. _Eighteen dead children. _My stomach flips in mild amazement. Alfie and my mother avoid looking at the screen when they recap the deaths in slow motion. To conclude the first days program, we view the training score pictures for each dead tribute. My father crosses their names off as if they were items on a shopping list.


	9. Butterflies Of Death

**Butterflies Of Death**

The second day of the arena picks up exactly where we left off. Viewers glimpse the action that they may have missed over night. My father, who has not gone to bed, tells us with wide eyes about how the girl from District 6 died.

"The squirrels got her. They ripped her apart," he explained much to my horror.

We take our seats, feeling well rested and anxious for the action to continue. The commentators explain that twenty-nine tributes remain. Ten of the survivors are Careers, who scour the route toward the mountain. The arena shines bright and songbirds sing overhead.

Suddenly a cannon blast goes off. A male tribute drops dead, his hands cupped to his lips. Remnants of the water from the stream trickle out of his unmoving fingers.

"It must be poisonous," comments my mother with her hands rose to her mouth.

The boy is lifted into the air by a hovercraft, a frozen expression of horror on his face. In the distance, the other tributes watch with indifferent expressions. The camera shows many lakes and clear streams throughout the arena. _Are they all poisoned? _

"What can they drink?" asks Alfie.

"There's water back at the Cornucopia and the rainwater appears safe," answers my father.

"Did it rain?" I question.

"Yes and only a handful of tributes captured it in some way. Smart kids."

The morning brings three more deaths. A girl, tortured by hunger pangs, reaches for an apple and falls dead by the first bite. Ten minutes later, a boy tracing wild game smells a flower, which must emit a deadly scent for he falls too. However, nothing compares to the disturbing death of the remaining boy from District 11. He wonders into a field of flowers and meets a group of butterflies. All it takes is a glance. The butterflies turn deadly, stinging him until his screams bring a savage boy who runs through him with a spear.

"How many are left?" Alfie's voice rings out from under a shaking blanket.

"Twenty-five," my father's eyes look wild.

"Why don't you get some sleep, dear?" persuades my mother with a hint of hysteria in her voice.

"I'm fine."

The day ends with the camera on Haymitch. He continues on his path away from the mountain-a smart move considering the amount of Careers waiting to slit his throat. The Careers are menacing. Merciless. They stab a panic-stricken female to death in a heated frenzy. Come night, six cannon blasts symbolize the dead. Their unemotional faces hang in the sky like fallen stars.

My mother has to force us to bed at the conclusion of the anthem. Alfie trembles under his blanket, too scared to look at the carnage. That night, I lay awake for hours. I could hear the television in the parlor updating with new developments. I could hear my mother's pleas to my father, begging him to come to bed. At one point, I drifted off, only to wake up screaming. My mother runs into my room, holding me until I give in.

"Effie. Sweet Effie. Everything will be okay. You are safe. You'll always be safe, my darling," she promises me.

I listen to her calm words and close my eyes. _I am safe. I will always be safe._

The third day shows the living tributes in a new light. Instead of portraying frail, weak children, the audience meets confident, resourceful men and women. Haymitch continues away from the mountain, only to lose his sense of direction after a squirrel attack. When he realizes this, however, he spins around quickly. A butterfly stings him and he runs back into the forest.

Maysilee Donner reveals her weapon-a blow dart. She resides near the crystal stream, making use of the poisoned water for ammunition. A girl tries to attack her, but Maysilee proves herself and shoots a dart into her neck. The Careers on the mountain reach a disagreement and temporarily split up.

The camera pans over to Haymitch. He stands on one side of the forest, facing a boy from District 3. The tribute screams and lunges at him, a machete branded over his sandy hair. Haymitch bravely sidesteps his confronter. The tribute looks confused for a split-second, only to find Haymitch's knife lodged in his abdomen. With a look of malice, Haymitch pulls the knife out of the boy and kicks him to the ground.

"You need to sleep," I break my attention from the television and watch my parents.

My father is beyond talking. He sits perfectly still, his eyes wide and circled by bags. Stubble dominates his cheeks. When addressed, he simply stares in my mother's direction. She gives him a look of true concern, and my father goes back to the television.

By the conclusion of the third day only twenty-three tributes remain. Ten Careers and seven other tributes hide on different parts of the mountain. The other few, including Haymitch and Maysilee, roam the forest. The cannon rings and the anthem plays. Dead children hang in the sky.

"How long do you think this will last?" asks Alfie.

I look over toward my father, expecting an answer. He answers with a loud snore. My mother gets a blanket and places it on top of him.


	10. Allies

**Allies**

Alfie's shouts wake me up the fourth morning of the Quell.

"The mountain is exploding!" he shouts.

I run down the hallway to the television and watch with awe. The top of the mountain bears an enormous crack on the northern end. Molten lava oozes out of the crack and begins a slow descent, leaving ruin in its path. The Career tribute packs are sleeping. Their deaths are unavoidable.

"The Gamemakers designed an erupting volcano? Classic," my father rubs at his eyes.

"Look!" shouts Alfie again directing my attention back to the television.

The lava has reached the other tributes, sleeping under rocks or near trees. One boy does not even get the chance to run before the lava encompasses him. Slowly, they awake sensing trouble. A few point out the oncoming wave with trembling fingers, others abandon their spots altogether. _Get out of there! No one wants to see you burned alive. _

Running does them no justice. The District 7 female trips on a root and the lava takes her. One boy pushes another tribute in the way of the lava and escapes the mountain. Much to his dismay, however, a Career sends a spear through his neck. The Careers are moving by this time, fearing the lava to a lesser degree than the remaining tributes. On their way down, half of the pack dies, leaving five Careers to continue.

The lava stops as suddenly as it began. Destruction has become the setting for the mountain, the once beautiful snow ruined by charred remnants of trees. Twelve tributes die in the eruption. The remaining earns a life-sentence into the woods. Without the mountain to provide shelter and the meadow offering little protection, the tributes gain distance on one another.

Haymitch appears on screen, struggling to continue on his journey away from the mountain. He finds himself in a maze of sorts with no visible exit. Sub sequentially; he follows the maze into the center of the woods. Where he finds the Careers.

"This is it, Effie," my father states, "He gave it a good run, but he is no match for the Careers."

The camera focuses on the upcoming battle. Haymitch stands his ground and pulls out his knife. The knife shines silver in the harsh sunlight. Suddenly, the Careers rush at him, weapons brandished. I close my eyes tightly, not wanting to see his defeat. _Not Haymitch. Please don't die._

"He killed one!" Alfie yells, causing my mother to come into the parlor.

I chance a glance at the screen and hold my breath. Haymitch has slit the throat of a District 1 boy. He lies on the ground, clawing at his throat. Another tribute runs to attack. Haymitch quickly stabs him in the shoulder, disarming the tribute. He follows up with a quick jab to the abdomen, which seals the deal. _Two down!_

Haymitch turns to face the third Career and meets a block of wood to the head. He falls backward, blood spewing out of his nose. Then the Career jumps him. They roll on the ground, switching positions. Haymitch raises his knife to stab. Instead, he takes another hit to the face.

"He's going to die," I cry out, closing my eyes.

"Here we go!" shouts my father standing up.

Haymitch holds his knife, which the Career has turned onto him. With all his strength, he holds the arm of tribute, preventing a fatal cut to the throat. The knife comes closer to Haymitch. I take a brief second to ponder the position of the camera and the invasion of privacy. Sweat runs off the men like the lava creeping down the mountain.

Instantaneously, a cannon fires. I shut my eyes for a third time, positive that Haymitch is dead.

"I don't believe it," my father comments.

"Is he dead?" my voice is barely audible.

"Look!" whispers Alfie.

Haymitch gets to his feet. _He is alive. Haymitch is alive. _Curiously, he looks over toward the woods. The camera reveals a dart stuck in the neck of the dead tribute. Maysilee Donner steps out of the woods and I volunteer a responding whoop. She looks dirty from her time in the arena, lacking that cleanly spark she possessed at the reaping.

"We'd live longer with two of us," she says bravely.

Haymitch rubs his neck and wipes away the blood from his nose, "Guess you just proved that. Allies?"

She nods and Haymitch sets off again for the unknown. With Maysilee by his side, he looks invincible. _Only one of them can live. _This realization causes any newfound joy to turn into sorrow. _One will die. Maybe both of them will die. _

"An alliance?" my father writes this in his notebook, "I want to see where this leads."

"Are they common? The alliances?" my mother quietly asks.

"Sometimes. They depend on the tributes that make them. This pair is capable of many things."

My father is correct. Throughout the day, the camera shows Maysilee and Haymitch working together. When the rain falls, they take turns collecting it in leaves and drinking. Maysilee offers Haymitch the food from her pack and together they split the Careers' food. At night, Maysilee rests while Haymitch watches over her.

Unconsciously, I notice that I feel a little jealous over their companionship. The thought of Haymitch blowing me a kiss during the chariot rides is fresh in my memory. Of course, the thought is ridiculous.

Come nightfall, the cannon rings out. Fifteen today. Eight left: two Careers, six tributes, Maysilee, and Haymitch. My father explains that interviews of the living tributes' families will be conducted and edited for a special on television.

"Crews will go out to the districts that play home to the remaining eight," he says, "They usually interview close family members, friends, and loved ones."

I remember Haymitch's avoidance at Caesar Flickerman's question of romance and blush. _Let her speak, whoever she may be. I do not care. _Alfie catches my gaze and snickers.

"Why?" we turn our attention back to the television.

Maysilee Donner has refused to follow Haymitch any further. She repeats her question and leans against a willow.

Haymitch spins around, "Because it has to end somewhere, right? The arena can't go on forever."

I consider this for a moment, picturing the tributes trapped in a snow globe of sorts.

"That's dangerous thinking," my father says with an alarming tone.

"What do you expect to find?" Maysilee questions Haymitch intensely.

"I don't know," Haymitch answers bluntly, "But maybe there's something we can use."


	11. The End Of Fifty

**The End Of Fifty**

Haymitch and Maysilee stop. They have traveled all night. An impenetrable hedge blocks their way forward, causing a mass hiatus. I watch with concern as the Career comes closer to the hedge. Maysilee tries to climb but to no avail. After a few attempts, Haymitch pulls a blowtorch out of a pack that he got from the Careers. The hedge does not stand a chance.

"Resourceful, isn't he," comments my father.

"That boy has a strong head on his shoulders," my mother responds.

The duo steps through the cleared path and finds flat ground. A cliff rests a few paces away. The camera pans over the side of the cliff, showing the jagged rocks below. _A dead-end for sure. Dead. End. I think I finally understand the meaning behind that phrase-dead end._

As if reading my mind, Maysilee speaks, "That's all these is, Haymitch. Let's go back."

"No," he responds automatically, "I'm staying here."

Silence from either end. I hold my breath, terrified with the thought of them fighting to death. Maysilee breaks the silence.

"All right. There's only five of us left."

Other tributes must have died overnight. The camera quickly updates with shots of the remaining tributes: One Career, two other tributes, Maysilee, and Haymitch. Maysilee continues.

"May as well say good-bye now, anyway. I don't want it to come down to you and me."

"Okay."

I breathe a sigh of relief. They will not kill each other. Their alliance has brought a bond of mutual respect for the life of the other. She walks away without any further words or gesture of friendship. Haymitch does not even look her way as she departs. Instead, he faces the cliff.

"Is he going to kill himself?" Alfie poses the question.

"I do not think so," answers my mother, "He walked all this way."

I watch Haymitch with curiosity. _Why have you come all this way? What was the purpose? _He walks about the cliff face with a look of deep thought. Suddenly, he kicks a pebble off the edge. The camera follows the pebble down. And it comes back. The pebble flies back onto the ground.

"What!" yells Alfie.

"How?" questions my mother.

"It cannot be possible," states my father.

I sit there dumbfounded. _It came back. What! How? It cannot be possible. It came back. _Haymitch notices this with a look of puzzlement. He dons a look of knowing and picks up a large rock. Purposefully, he throws it over. When it returns, he issues a laugh.

"What could this mean?" someone asks.

Then we hear the scream. For a second, I believe it came from outside our window. Haymitch's head snaps up in horror. The camera shoots over to Maysilee. She grasps at her neck. A pink bird's beak is lodged above the trachea. Blood starts to ooze out of the wound, dripping down her neck and soaking her. Haymitch reaches her a moment later. Shock passes over his face, evolving into pain and realization.

"Oh! How awful," my mother cries out.

Haymitch takes her bloody, trembling hand in his. She tries to look at him. A single tear escapes from my eyes. Haymitch looks into her eyes, seeking any form of life from within. A second later, he closes his eyes. _Eyes all around. _

The cannon sounds. _She is dead. Maysilee Donner is dead. _

"Final four," my father announces.

I shoot him a look of surprise and disgust. For only a moment, I forget that the Games are a competition. That there can only be one winner. Everyone else has to die. My father crosses Maysilee's name off the list. Now, I cry.

The camera finds the remaining tributes and the screen splits into quarters. For the remainder of the Games, one camera will follow each tribute. Any missed action would lose viewers and Capitol interest. As if on cue, the tribute in the lower left hand quarter finds trouble. He crosses paths with the Career tribute-now confirmed as the girl from District 1. She hits him upside the head with a blunt ax.

The screen splits into thirds and later halves as the random tribute meets a pack of golden squirrels. They jump on her from every direction, biting her and carrying her corpse away. _Two. _

"If Haymitch wins, I will receive a tremendous payout," my father smiles at me.

"Is that all you care about!" I scream in response.

Everyone looks at me. My mother breaths deeply, despising my outburst, yet silently agreeing with my view. Alfie just stares. My father surprises me with a look of hurt. He shrugs his shoulders and clears his throat.

"Of course not, Effie," he states in a clear voice, "I just want the best for my family. With that gratuitous pay, we can afford to send you and your brother to a nicer upper school."

I feel shame. And pain. _How could the Games affect me so? I am not even a contender, so why should I care? What is wrong with me? _The commentators bring me back to reality. Haymitch and District 1 have finally met. She has power, speed, strength, and beauty. He stands tall and bold. And the fight begins.

"Here we go!" my father yells.

Haymitch takes his knife and swings at District 1. She barely manages to duck and strands of her hair lie in the crossfire. In response, she goes for his right arm with the ax. Centimeters lay in-between his limb and the blade. Haymitch jets out to the side, slicing her abdomen. District 1 emits a grunt and punches Haymitch in the nose. A thin stream of blood trickles out.

"I can't watch!" my mother hides her eyes.

_Blood. Blood everywhere. _Haymitch staunches his nose flow and lunges at District 1. She tries to fend off his attack, but he forces the blade into her eye cavity. She lets out a horrifying scream and Haymitch digs in deeper. With some force, he dislodges her eyeball. At this action, I hide my eyes.

District 1 screams continuously and her breathing gets heavier. I peer through my fingers just in time to see her lay a direct hit into Haymitch's intestines. He yells and grabs his slippery entrails. District 1 takes the opportunity to kick the knife out of his hand. With this move, defeat lingers in his eyes.

He turns and runs. Staggering, Haymitch heads for the cliff. District 1 follows in pursuit, ax raised high. He reaches the edge with trembling fingers. Suddenly, she lets the ax fly-straight for Haymitch's head. The camera zooms in on the flying ax. It goes over the side of the cliff.

Haymitch begins to twitch on the ground, still managing to hold his insides in. District 1 stands triumphantly, positive that she will emerge a victor. Something in the distance catches her eye. The shiny ax. Confusion. Realization. Death. The ax hits her in the face, splitting it into two halves.

She falls to the ground. Dead. A cannon fires.

"Are you kidding me?" roars my father hysterically.

The announcer's voice rings out, "Ladies and gentlemen, I am pleased to present the victor of the Fiftieth Hunger Games, the tribute of District Twelve! I give you-Haymitch Abernathy."


	12. Abernathy Aftermath

**Abernathy Aftermath**

The room goes quiet. The Fiftieth Hunger Games have ended. The nightmare is over for Haymitch Abernathy. _Or is it? How can he live with himself? _The Games conclude with bountiful fanfare as Haymitch is lifted out of the arena via hovercraft. Then, the screen goes black.

"We're rich!" my father hollers around the house, "We're rich!"

My mother simply does not know what to do. She sits in a proper manner, her legs crossed at the ankle, eyes trained on the black screen.

"What's that dear?" she asks my father.

"The City Circle! I have to go. I have won a tremendous amount of money. We are rich, rich, rich!" he jumps about the room.

Alfie and I cannot react. I have no understand of what has happened. We share a glance of confusion. All I know is that Haymitch won. My father runs out of the house, whooping loudly. All hell broke that day loose.

My mother came back to reality. During my father's absence, she cleaned and reminded us of our manners. Upon his arrival, she stopped cleaning and ran to the window. He had returned with eight large vans, each filled with his winnings. Winnings on a tribute that I picked. A tribute whose odds of winning were slim to nothing.

_The realization of our situation hits me. We-my father and I-bet on four children from our own nation to kill forty-four other children. In reality, we hoped for the death of innocent lives. The Hunger Games, our national pastime, is a game that kills innocent children on live television. And to the monsters that watch and worse-those that bet on who will survive, how can you live with yourself? How can I live with myself?_

_ Of course, I did not know then what I know now. I was a naïve girl of seven who could not tell right from wrong. Oh, the humanity. But, I did not know then what I know now. _

We concluded the Fiftieth Hunger Games by watching Haymitch's interview the following night. Dressed handsomely, he relayed the horrors of watching Maysilee die and the brutality demonstrated in the fight that led to him winning. Caesar Flickerman showed the clips of Haymitch's mother talking about how much she loved her son, Haymitch's brother speaking of pride for his sibling, and Haymitch's girlfriend discussing her anxiety for his safe, timely return.

"Where does he go now?" I ask.

"Home, dear. He goes home," responds my mother.

"He will be back," says my father with a tone of neither resentment nor hate, "Victors' must travel back to the Capitol again for the Victory Tour."

Haymitch Abernathy returns to District 12. Our lives return to relative normality. The Games, a frequent topic around the Capitol, become the subject of discussion for months. With our game winnings, my father purchases a large house in the City Circle. He becomes one of the elite-a bigwig as citizens call him, which proves ironic because he takes up wearing one. My mother picks out new schools for Alfie and me. Our last name appends an epithet-the _distinguished _Trinkets.

My life changes considerably. What was once a friendly person of middle status evolves into a privileged princess. I became selective of my associates in lower school. I minded my manners to a tee. People I grew up with became those with whom I would not associate. By the time I reached upper school, I was Effie Trinket-the epitome of the perfect Capitol citizen.

When Haymitch Abernathy returned to the Capitol for the Victory Tour, he made a spectacle of himself. He seemed distant-more so than usual, and often showed up drunk. Even his once handsome face had diminished. One interview in particular stood out.

"So, Haymitch," a Capitol reporter shoved a microphone into his face, "What are your thoughts on being back in the Capitol?"

Haymitch stood in silence for the better part of five minutes.

"Is it a bad time? Can you spare a few words?" the reporter repeats the question.

"Why not? The Capitol already took everything else from me," Haymitch suddenly snaps.

His escort runs to his side and comments, "Don't mind him. He's drunk as a skunk."

"No, I'm not," Haymitch replies from behind his escort, "I'm sick of –…"

The interview ends. It played once on national television and then never again. Haymitch Abernathy disappeared.

My obsession with the Hunger Games grew after we moved. My rationale was that the Games had positive effects on all who participated. Capitol citizens had a sport to honor, tributes to bet on, and money to make. Districts had the opportunity to shine with each victor they collected. _Like trading cards. _Victors, of course, won all the honor and glory that went along with living. And the dead tributes? Well, they probably would have starved anyway.

The years went by slowly and eventfully. Nine other tributes had claimed the title of victor. Countless others had died in what had been increasingly boring Hunger Games. Well, boring for my standards anyway. I had better things to do then watch tributes maul each other to death with hunks of wood. My mother and my father became Mother and Father. I rarely spoke to Alfie.

Along with reaching sixteen, I became somewhat of a queen in upper school. Often, I find myself reminiscing about my youth. Looking back, I wish I had made better decisions.


	13. Dye Jobs and Parties

**Dye Jobs and Parties**

Yuffie and I walked down the gold inlay streets of the Capitol, gossiping about other people we knew. I met Yuffie in lower school around year four. There are, as everyone in the Capitol knows, twelve years of school-six in lower school, six in upper school. At first, I did not care for Yuffie. She demonstrated a particular vulgar demeanor toward the less fortunate girls in our class. And by that, I mean she was a bully.

Yuffie had short, spiky blue hair-a common favorite among Capitol citizens. She was skinnier than I was, and resolved to make this a symbol of status in our friendship. However, she lacked the beauty that I acquired. Men around the Capitol called her "sexy" or "hot", but they saved "beautiful" and "attractive" for me.

Around this time, I had hair of an unusual yellow nature. My body type resembled that of an athlete, yet I possessed no real strength. Yuffie was delicate in her build, skeletal at times. We walked on this particular Saturday into the City Circle. Our destination was the dye job shop.

"Flavius!" Yuffie shouted to a boy holding an aerosol can, "Come over here."

Flavius walked over, and I took note of his light purple skin and orange corkscrew curls. He was in upper year five and one of the most stylish men around. In a few years time, he would go on to own this dye job shop.

"What can I do for you beauties?" he asked with a high-pitched intonation.

"We want dye jobs," responded Yuffie picking up a magazine.

"Well, lavender is all the rage this season. Sea foam green is making a comeback," he flipped his hand as he spoke.

"Lavender would be just heavenly," I answered, fluttering my eyelashes.

Flavius led us over to two large tubes. He held open a rounded, glass door and we stepped inside. Yuffie picked up two goggles from a container outside the door. She gave me a pair and we put them on. Then we stripped.

Nudity may have its fashionable moments in the Capitol, but the only way to authenticate a dye job is to indulge the whole body. I exhibited no embarrassment about being naked in public. After all, if I were to look fabulous, then this became a necessary step.

Once our clothes were protected in a leak-proof container, I gave Flavius thumbs up. He set controls outside our tube and pushed a large button. Immediately, a purple mist pervaded the tube, overtaking the air supply. The mist clouded my body and a dew settling sensation occurred. After about five minutes, the mist evaporated out of the tube.

Yuffie and I examined our lavender bodies, satisfied with the results. Skin dying was all too common around the Capitol. I tried to change up my colors once every three months as to prepare for the changing seasons. There was nothing more embarrassing than wearing last seasons' color.

"So, I got us in!" whispered Yuffie as we paid Flavius for his services.

"Yes!" I squealed in excitement.

"I had to pull a few strings and do a few things I'm not too proud of," she admitted with a regrettable look on her face.

We had been trying to procure invitations to an inauguration party for the Sixtieth Hunger Games. After one completed upper school, they could choose to attend Game school, an institution that landed Capitol students with positions within the field of Hunger Games. Anyone who wanted to be an interviewer, escort, stylist, or Gamemaker went there. I had considered applying, but with two years of upper school left, I had time to make a more concrete decision.

Yuffie was seeing a boy in Game school year one. He had connections to many important people within the Games franchise. Yuffie, who wanted to be a politician, had no interest in Game school. I, however, had many discussions with her partner about his studies.

"So, where is the affair going to be held?" I asked as we exited the dye job shop.

"At Seneca Crane's mansion!" Yuffie answered excitedly.

Seneca Crane was an attractive young man who had graduated upper school two years ago. While in upper school, he excelled in warfare studies and crushed the competition in academia. He aspired to be Head Gamemaker one day. Everyone who was anyone knew of Seneca Crane.

"Yuffie, we have so much to do!" I commented.

I was a master of timekeeping and schedule making. My punctuality was envied by my peers and coveted by my enemies. In my bedroom, I owned a large wall-sized calendar on which I keep dutiful track of all my happenings.

"Let's meet up later to shop for outfits," suggested Yuffie.

I agreed and headed home. My goal was to convince my parents of a few things. Firstly, I needed to get permission to go out for a party. Secondly, I needed money with which I could purchase a respectable outfit. Lastly, I needed transportation to get to Seneca Crane's. Yuffie's boyfriend owned a stylish car, but sometimes I made it a priority to out-do him.

With any luck, I could dance the night away and have a lovely suitor drive me home in his impressive vehicle. Oh, how I loved living in luxury. Upon my entrance, I noticed Alfie lounging in the parlor with his friends.

"You look like a grape," he commented as I walked in.

"No one asked your opinion!" I snapped viciously, daring him to further comment on my appearance.

I was very sensitive of the way I looked and the last thing I needed was my stupid brother criticizing me. He had a muscular build and an outrageous haircut, even for a Capitol eye. His unruly strands stuck out from his forehead like spikes, casting a deep shadow over his eyes. Much to my suspicion, I guessed that he fancied a girl in my year and went with her. Unfortunately, I lacked proof.

"Hey, Effie," his friends greeted me.

One boy had a massive nose and sleek silver hair. I paid him little to no attention at all times. He was very annoying and quite immature. The other boy was a different story. This man had one of the most impressive jaw lines around. Additionally, he possessed light grey eyes that peered into your soul. He was soft-spoken and very well known around upper school.

"Hello," I responded politely, "Where are mother and father?"

"Who knows? Who cares?" asked Alfie.

"I need money for a new outfit," I explained, "I need to look good for the inaugural Hunger Games party."

"You are not going to an inaugural party. There is no way a no one like you got an invitation," Alfie stated matter-of-factly.

"Oh yeah?" I snapped again, "Well, for your information, Yuffie and I are going to Seneca Crane's mansion for his party!"

The boys sat around dumbfounded. I particularly enjoyed Alfie's reaction. Under his dark nest of hair, I saw his eyebrows rise. I smirked in response and walked away.


	14. Falling From Grace

**Falling From Grace**

As soon as I stepped into my bedroom, my phone rang.

"It's for me!" I screamed to the boys in the parlor before they picked it up.

"Hello?" I asked breathlessly into the pink receiver.

"Effie. Good news. There is a sale in the Circle Circuit so let's get down there, ASAP," Yuffie's excited voice came out of the other end.

The Circle Circuit was the hottest, most stylish fashion boutique in the Capitol. The clothes there were so expensive that it would cost less to keep District 12 alive than to afford one-half of the merchandise in that store. I owned a beautiful gown that made its debut to homecoming earlier this year-its only debut, might I add. We agreed to meet in thirty minutes at the entrance to the City Circle. I rushed out of my bedroom much to the dismay of my brother.

"I thought you were done bothering us," he commented as I gathered my purse.

"I have to go meet Yuffie at the Circle Circuit. Don't get your hopes up," I said in response.

"Oh yeah? Where you going to get that kind of money?" he asked in wonder.

I paused. I had little to no money in my purse. My parents allotted both Alfie and I a gratuitous amount each day, but I had spent the majority of my share on the dye job.

"Yeah, about that. Just lend me some, okay?" I asked.

"Fat chance," he laughed, "Besides, you would spend it all anyway. I have big plans for my share. I want to buy a car."

"It won't do you any good, you will just be driving around by yourself," I sneered.

"No, Effie. You cannot have my money," he said matter-of-factly.

Now I had a problem. Did I risk showing up to the Circle Circuit with my measly remaining amount of money? Should I go and browse around, but resist buying anything? Should I just not show up? The only option that was completely out of question was asking Yuffie for money. There was nothing more embarrassing than a Trinket asking for a favor.

Just that moment, my parents came in. They exchanged polite greetings with Alfie's friends and smiled at both Alfie and me. Then, they retired to their bedroom on the third floor of our establishment. Along the way, mother set her purse on a side table in the main hallway.

Alfie and I eyed the purse as she embarked up the stairs. He seemed to shake his head in disapproval, but my eyes grew wide with excitement. In an instant, I glided over to the purse and pulled out a beautiful wallet. The plastic credit card stuck out of the top, begging to meet my acquaintance. I snatched it with enough force to send the purse tumbling to the hallway floor.

Lipstick tubes, electronic gadgets, and papers flew out of the bag. I scrambled about on the floor, trying desperately to recover all the fallen items. Deciding to leave quickly rather than wait and be found out, I threw the items in the purse and set it roughly on the table. Then, I fled the house.

I ran all the way to the Circle Circuit without looking back to see whether anyone followed me. I was paranoid really. Theft was not my strong suit. I needed that card _so badly. _I'm sure anyone with any sense would understand. And it was not as if I was going to spend hundreds on a dress. Honestly, she would want me to have this. My thoughts turned from guilt-ridden to acceptance.

"Took you long enough," snapped Yuffie upon my arrival.

"Yeah, yeah. Let's go shopping," I shooed her into the boutique and shut the large, glass door briskly.

We looked around the ground floor finding nothing but shoes. A tower of shoes lingered over the entrance to the store, threatening to fall at any given second. A pair of golden heels caught my eye. I ran over to them for a better look. They were perfect-stable five-inch heels, strapless contour, and that pointed toe that made the boys mouths drop. Upon closer examination, the price made my mouth drop.

"Come on, Effie. The dresses are upstairs," Yuffie glimpsed at the shoes on her way up the stairs, "Those are so last season."

I followed her, eyeing the shoes with want. We circled the second floor in pursuit of respectable dresses. Or lack thereof. Yuffie chose a skirt that practically wrapped around her waist. It was only a few inches thick, threatening to expose everything she had.

"How does this look?" she questioned.

"Fantastic!" I lied through my teeth.

It was a best friend's job to always make sure her girls were looking fine. It was my job to make sure I looked even more fantastic. I picked out a dress that dared to cut even lower. I made a mental note to be on my best behavior the night of the party. Uphold the family name, as mother would say.

"You are not buying that," Yuffie responded automatically when I twirled in my dress for her.

"And why not?" I asked innocently, playing someone who wanted something badly.

"It has to be at least seven hundred. Eight at the most," she commented, trying on earrings.

I chanced a glance at the price tag. Not a bad guess. More like nine hundred. And fifty. I gulped. There was no way this dress was even worth that much. I took it off and threw it onto a rack. Yuffie slammed an equally gorgeous dress into my arms.

"Try that," she ordered.

I put on the garment and admired myself in the mirror. The crushed silver brought out my eyes and accentuated my skin color. It fit, but left little room for mobility. _Maybe I should lose some weight. _

"You look perfect," Yuffie stared.

I decided to buy the dress. The price was considerably less than the previous outfit. When it came time to use the card, a wave of panic passed over. The clerk took the card and swiped it. A moment passed and the clerk swiped the card again. More panic passed through.

"Miss, your card does not seem to be working," he stated blandly.

"Can you try debit, please?" I whispered with a note of hysteria rising.

The machine beeped again and finally produced a lengthy receipt. The clerk offered me a pen and had me sign the bottom of the notice. Yuffie eyed me suspiciously. She walked away, pretending that she had no knowledge of my embarrassing situation or me.

"Come on. Let's get out of here," she whispered when I began to follow her.

She practically pulled me out of the store by my arm. Along the way, she kept murmuring how embarrassed I had made her. She pulled me along the gold inlay streets and my wrist began to hurt.

"Ouch! Yuffie let me go!" I whined when we were outside of the boutique.

"Effie, I cannot believe you. That was the most embarrassing situation I've ever been in," she had tears in her eyes, "You better get your act together if you're going to be ready for that party next Friday."

I nodded understandingly. I would have been embarrassed too, I guess. Well, more embarrassed than I already was. I said good-bye and walked home, eager to replace the credit card. As soon as I opened the door, Alfie shot me a look of alarm.

"Get out," he whispered quietly.

I stepped into the house and quickly shut the door. The table was only a few paces away from the edifice. As soon as I shut the door, I heard it.

"Effie Trinket!" mother screamed from the top of the steps.

She ran down the steps like a tribute running from the Cornucopia. Within seconds, she had pulled my hair and forced me down onto the couch. She ripped the bag from the Circle Circuit out of my hands and threw it on the ground.

"How dare you take my credit card!" she snapped, "What were you thinking, taking something that did not belong to you? You are a Trinket, you should know better! I am extremely disappointed in you."

"Mother, I-" I began.

She slapped me across my face. There was a horribly awkward moment that passed between the three of us. My mother, the hate passing out of her eyes, looked shocked. Alfie sat on the couch, his eyes wide. I laid a hand gingerly onto my cheek where the burn started to subside.

"You are grounded indefinitely. You are not to leave this house except for school," she ordered, backing away.

_Now I have done it. No party, no popularity. What will everyone at school say? I will be the biggest laughing stock in all of upper year four. _My embarrassment sprang forth for the umpteenth time today. I began to cry.


	15. Rumors

**Rumors**

School was a nightmare. I walked into homeroom and caught Yuffie telling two of the other well-known girls about our escapade in the Circle Circuit. Upon my arrival, Yuffie immediately stopped talking and began loudly greeting me. I chose to not mention anything, wanting nothing more than to avoid confrontation. I seem to choose this option more often than not.

"So Effie, are you ready for that party on Friday?" she asked in a cheery tone.

I looked up at her with un-canon defeat in my eyes. She seemed to sense my misery and feed off it.

"Actually, I have other plans," I remarked with an air of confidence.

This, of course, was false. Unless you counted sitting in my room alone. Which I did not. She seemed taken aback by my answer, but played it off with a smirk.

"Oh, what a shame," she faux-pouted, "I guess you will have to come to the next one. If there is a next one."

She walked away. I felt the glowing heat of embarrassment rise up out of my core. _There is no way that I am missing Seneca Crane's inaugural Hunger Games party. No way at all. _Yuffie rejoined her confidantes and began laughing obnoxiously. _I hate my friends. _

The afternoon was not much better. All of my friends discussed how radical Seneca's party was going to be. Yuffie relayed her story many times, and after a while, students began to point fingers at me behind my back. I walked home alone with an ever-present feeling of despair over my shoulder.

When I got home, mother was waiting for me. She sat me down in the parlor and offered me a cup of tea. I accepted graciously. Then I burst into tears.

"Effie, darling!" mother shrieked at my outburst, "What has gotten into you?"

"Mother, I just cannot handle the pressure. I need to go to that party on Friday. Yuffie is positively ruining my reputation!" I shouted three levels too loud.

Mother sympathetically petted my hair. She tried to quiet me with shushing noises.

"I try to give you everything you want, dear," she started, "And you are not one to act rash. Perhaps if you demonstrate proper manners for the next few days, I will reconsider my sentence."

I perked up at her words. She grinned that Trinket signature smile and patted my hand as she left. _All I have to do is play it cool. Not a big deal. _Or so I thought. Once Alfie discovered the possible revocation of my sentence, he tried his best to aggravate me. I remained unfazed all throughout dinner. Then dessert came.

"Effie, I almost forgot to ask you," he started with a golden fork in his hand.

"Yes, you are annoying," I answered smiling.

"No, not that. Clever though," he added, "Your friend Yuffie told me something rather interesting."

"Oh?" I asked genuinely surprised.

"Yeah, she told me about how mother's card was declined when you tried to buy that dress," he stated matter-of-factly.

"So? The credit was not working," I answered back calmly, hoping mother had not yet learned the total amount I ended up spending.

"Well, she told me that in order to pay for the dress, you told the cashier that you'd sleep with him," he continued, "I was wondering if you could get me some suede shoes for that party on Friday."

He immediately started laughing. I, however, did not.

"What!" I screamed springing off my seat as if it were on fire.

Alfie had to dodge quickly as I hurled my plate, silverware, and glass across the table at him.

"Effie! Alfie! What in the world is going on!" mother screamed.

"That is not even remotely true. I told him to try debit, not to try me!" I loaded my arms with more ammunition to launch.

Mother's face had gone beet red. She looked infuriated, embarrassed, and horrified. A complete mirror of how I felt.

"Effie. Go to your room," she ordered, not daring to look at me.

I stormed upstairs, tears cascading down my face. _That bitch! How dare her! Oh, I was going to get her good tomorrow. She had another thing coming. _I slammed my door shut and laid on my bed, my face molesting the pillow. Mother came up about thirty minutes later.

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked quietly.

Mother. Always my savior. Always my hero.

"I am so tired of Yuffie ruining my life. She always tells me that I weigh too much. She always makes me feel inferior. I hate her!" I sobbed loudly.

"Darling, you are a Trinket. Trinkets always come out on top. Don't you worry," she began, "As for this Yuffie, simply ignore her. You are better than she is. She is nothing and you are everything."

"But she told everyone at school!" I whined, "My social life is over!"

"Just ignore her," mother responded, "She will get hers. You will regain friends-true friends-in time."

I nodded, absorbing her wise words. _I will not fight her. She will get hers. _I thanked mother for her wise words and bid her goodnight. Damage control set in the next day. I walked to school with my head held high. Upon reaching the rotunda, however, the whispers began.

"I heard she slept with the principal to get good marks."

"She is so easy."

"Did you know that Effie Trinket is a lesbian? She is in love with Yuffie."

_You have to be kidding me. _All comments aside, my day was going fine. I stared Yuffie down in homeroom, daring her to come over. She shot me back eyes that seemed to pose a challenge. Suddenly, a large boy slammed his hand down on my desk.

"Hey Trinket," he called, "I'll give you five dollars to sleep with me. I hear you can use all the money you can get."

"I will do no such thing. Get off my desk, you hideous creature," I hissed through gritted teeth, praying that others would not hear.

"You are a prude bitch," he laughed and walked away.

Everyone was watching us, hiding their glee. The awkward moment lingered in the air. I tried my best not to show any emotion, but internally I was dying. By the end of homeroom, I felt nauseous. The only way to stiffen these rumors was to get to the source. I tried to attract Yuffie's attention.

"Hold on, girls," Yuffie whispered to her new friends, "I have to deal with something."

No one moved an inch. The anticipation of the moment grew so thick; one could cut it with a knife.

"Yuffie, you know as well as I do that I never said any of those vulgar things!" I snapped defensively, "I demand that you abate all your lies and return my reputation."

"Why don't you fuck off?" she responded, "Everyone knows how easy you are, Trinket."

I was mad. Very mad. Mother's voice resonated in my head 'She will get hers'.

"I know your upset because you don't have any real friends," I told her in a quiet tone, "But fret not, I will always be here for you."

"Will you just leave me alone?" she yelled, "You are finished. I have no interest in sleeping with you. Tramp is not my type."

Infuriation ran through my body. Red flashes pervaded my eyesight.

"Besides, we all know how you got here in the first place. Your mother slept around too. It's like they say, the apple never falls far from the tree."

In a second, I was in her face. The curses I strung together would have given mother a heart attack. She tried to stop me. Both mother and Yuffie did. I spit straight into her face. She turned a deep purple and smacked me. Two hits in one week. I was not having it. I punched her straight in the face, positive that I had broken at least three knuckles in the process. Yuffie fell backward. Unconscious. The whole room went silent and all eyes turned onto me.


	16. Detention

Sorry about the lack of updates. Just finished my semester of school. I frequently compare my morning commute (walking, bus ride, metro, shuttle) to the tributes going to the Capitol. Whatever.

* * *

><p><strong>Detention<strong>

I stepped back. Yuffie lay on the ground, blood seeping out of her nose. Students backed away from me as if I had a deadly disease. One boy threw up. I looked at my hands. They seemed to have a mind of their own. In any regard, I was not disappointed in their decisions.

"Miss Trinket!" yelled our haggardly old school teacher, "You follow me this instant."

She waddled down the hallway, dividing the mob of horror-stricken students. I followed sheepishly, while avoiding the gaze of my former peers.

"She had it coming," someone whispered.

I felt empowered. _No one, absolutely no one pokes fun at my expense. _The hag led me to the head in charge of upper school. She directed me to a beaten green couch and sat me down. I twiddled my thumbs in anticipation. No doubt, mother would receive a rather embarrassing phone call. _I just keep embarrassing everyone, don't I? _

"Trinket. Go on in."

The door opened. There sat a plain, wooden chair. The head sat behind her studious desk, arms folded. I stepped into the office.

"Sit."

Gripping the end of my skirt, I lowered myself into the chair and crossed my legs at the ankle. The head stood up and walked over to me.

"Well, who do we have here?" she asked with a morbid tone.

"Effie Trinket," I answered with my head down.

"And why have you been sent to me?" she had reached me.

"I punched my best friend."

"Why would you do such a thing?" her hand touched my shoulder gently.

"She uh," I started, shocked at her touch, "She spread malicious rumors about me. When I confronted her, she simply denied my accusations. Then she provoked me."

I became faintly aware of a heated sensation rising in my chest. The head had her hand on shoulder firmly. She seemed to pull at the sinews in my arm.

"What did she say?" her breath tickled my ear.

"Um. She…she…tarnished my reputation."

Her mouth was at my ear. Her whispers set my on edge.

"Go on."

Her hand slid down my shoulder onto my chest. I chose a particular low-cut outfit that morning. Those manicured nails grew closer to my breasts. I decided to give it one more try.

"She called me a whore."

Her hand stopped.

"Are you a whore, Miss Trinket?"

I stood up. My face had turned beet red. She gazed at me, the hint of a smirk playing on her face. My breathing quickened.

"Excuse me?" I screeched, "Isn't this inappropriate?"

She came closer. I backed up and hit the chair. _What the hell is going on? _She reached around me and threw the chair to the ground. Then she shoved me against her desk.

"Look. You are facing serious trouble. I could have you suspended. Or worse," she added, "So, are you going to play ball?"

She pressed me into the desk. My legs, exposed from the short skirt, cut on the rough edges of the wood. I was at an utter loss for words. She leaned in. I could smell her perfume invading my nostrils. Her hands gripped my slender hips. Suddenly, her lips were an inch away from mine.

"No," I answered, "I am not a whore. And I will not play ball. I highly suggest you take your hands off me this instant."

Both the head and my heart stopped. She removed her hands off my body.

"Detention," she whispered, "And I highly suggest you never return to my office. Be a good girl. If you can."

I hurried out of the office. _Detention? That's it? No fascist torture chamber? On the other hand, was I just molested by my school administrator? _I decided to lay low. I told no one of our encounter, glad for any excuse to stay away from her office. I had heard rumors-we all had, but then again I do not believe everything I hear. Besides, I might have enjoyed it. _A little. _

Detention, sub sequentially, was not too enjoyable. Interesting, but not enjoyable. I arrived on time, naturally. A drowsy looking man occupied the room.

"Is this detention?" I asked him politely.

"Clearly. Couldn't you tell?" he snapped, "Take a seat, sweetie."

_Sweetie? Clearly, this school is the epitome of unprofessionalism._ I grabbed the seat closest to the exit. A hasty departure once this lug nut fell asleep. I pulled a nail file out of my bag and attempted to spend the duration of my isolation fixing my cuticles. By the time I had perfected my pinkie, the geezer had fallen asleep. Quietly, I slipped out unnoticed.

When I came home, mother exhibited signs of a panic attack.

"Where were you!" she screeched, escorting me into the house, "We were so worried!"

"Detention," I responded quietly.

"Oh, why didn't you call? We could have came a gotten you for something as meager as dete- What! You got detention! How? What! Effie Trinket!"

I had a lot of explaining to do. I sat my parents down and tried to explain what was happening.

"And then she almost molested me," I concluded.

"She does that to everyone," Alfie inserted as he came into the parlor.

"Effie, I don't know what to say. Stealing, lying, detention. This is not like you," mother reported quietly, "I am afraid that you will not be going out for a while."

I nodded my head shamefully. Escaping to my bedroom was the only option. Once safely under my covers, the waterworks began. _How can it be that I shame everyone associated with me? What is wrong with me? _I cried myself out and tried to sleep. Suddenly, I heard a knock on the door.

"Effie, let me in," whispered Alfie.

I ran over to my bedroom door and opened it. He quickly slipped inside and sat on my bed.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, drying my eyes.

"I um, just wanted to say that I think it's cool that you stood up to Yuffie. You know, I had a bully in lower school. He used to beat me up all the time and take my lunch money, but you-you stood up to yours," he mumbled.

I sat next to him. Of course, I knew he was bullied. It led to an enormous amount of paperwork for father and a quick transfer of schools. However, I never expected admiration for my actions.

"So, you are grounded, huh?" he asked scratching his head.

"Unfortunately, yes."

"Well, I think we should change that. Come Friday, we will sneak out of the house. We can crash Seneca Crane's party," he smiled.

The thought brought a smile to my face. Nothing like sibling bonding in the form of sneaking out in the middle of the night to crash a Capitol party. I consented immediately. He smiled and gave me a rare hug. Then he turned to leave.

"You know you inspire me sometimes, Effie."


	17. The Party

**The Party**

For the rest of the week school became relatively easier. Yuffie had purchased some high-grade foundation to disguise the black eye she sported. We avoided each other in the halls. On the rare chance that I glanced her way, spectators circled her curiously hoping to catch a glimpse of her eye. She hustled down the hall without speaking to anyone. She had become a social pariah.

On the other hand, students and faculty alike questioned me relentless. The whole school population seemed to know of our encounter. The rumors acquitted and my status in the hierarchy grew. Yuffie's former friends became my new acquaintances.

"Are you going to Seneca's party on Friday?" one of them asked eagerly.

"Well, I have been grounded for my actions," I explained, "However; I will make my presence known."

Alfie's social status rose in relation to mine. He was referred to as the brother of the girl who was not a whore, a wondrous epithet indeed. On Thursday, he passed me in the hall and acknowledged my presence. Talk about sibling bonding.

Come Friday, I had no clue as to what I should wear for the party. I promptly returned the expensive dress to the Circle Circuit and apologized to mother for using her card. They offered me a full refund. Mother took note of my increasing integrity and lent me a surplus of allowance. Those gold shoes were mine.

Looking through my vast choice of apparel, I settled for a short pink skirt that ended at mid-thigh, a strapless silver top, and my cherished golden heels. After dinner, I told my parents that I needed sleep and departed for my bedroom. Alfie gave me a confident wink upon my leaving. Fifteen minutes later, I was dressed and ready.

"Took you long enough!" I hissed when Alfie opened my door, "What are you wearing?"

"What? You do not like it?" he answered in response.

He wore a red fez, a purple jacket, and long white pants. He looked like someone from District Four, freshly harbored from catching fish. Alfie shot me an incredulous glance, to which I responded by stopping my comments. He walked over to my bedroom window and opened it.

"This is not going to be easy," he said.

I walked over to the window. My room was located on the second floor. The neighbor's yard connected ours via a wooden fence. In order to disembark from my room, we would need to walk across the fence. I gulped.

"You climb out first," I suggested.

He nodded and lifted himself up onto the sill. Placing one foot unsteadily onto the fence, he balanced and stood up.

"It's not that hard once you get your balance," he whispered.

Carefully, he placed his second foot onto the fence and began to inch across. After he reached the halfway point, I decided to move. Gripping the sill tightly, I dragged my feet through. Once outside, I knew that my attempt was hopeless. There was no way across the fence with five-inch heels.

"I cannot do it!" I urged hysterically toward my brother.

"Hold on," he responded, jumping off the fence onto the ground.

Alfie ran the length of the fence to where I was clutching the sill cautiously. He reached up to me.

"Did you have to wear such a short skirt?" he asked shielding his eyes, "Jump down, I will catch you."

"Jump down!" I screeched.

He nodded impatiently. I knew we were running out of time. Soon, someone would see us. I calculated the distance of the fall. It had to be five feet at the most. I tried to pull my other leg through the sill, but my heel became tangled in my curtains. I lost my balance and face-dived straight for the ground.

Alfie tried to position himself under me, but my slip had caused me to fall before he was ready. Instead of him catching me, I fell straight onto him. We hit the ground simultaneously.

"My nose!" I cried, fearing breakage.

"Ugh, get off," he lay under me trying to get free.

"Alfie, I think my nose is broken!" I cried again.

"Effie, if you do not get off me, I will not help you," he responded.

I stood up shaking. Once on my feet, I lost my balance. The left heel was broken. Again, I fell face first. This time I met the fence.

"This is horrible," I stated with tears in my eyes.

"Do you want to just go back?" Alfie asked standing up.

"No," I answered, "I need to fix my heels."

"I thought your nose was broken?" he questioned.

"Yes, but my heels are too," I snapped angrily.

I took off my heel and tried to bend the material into a stable shape. The heel would not move. Silently, Alfie held out his hand and I gave up the shoe. In a moment, he had twisted it into a reusable item. I put the shoe back on and smiled.

"Come on, let's go," he urged.

We went across the street and walked for about fifteen minutes. Seneca Crane lived in the heart of the City Circle, close enough to the Training Center to see who entered or exited it. The front of his mansion was bombarded with vehicles. There could not have been a parking space within the whole of the City Circle. Loud music blared out of invisible speakers. Party guests loitered on his front lawn, talking merrily.

"Act cool," Alfie reminded me, "Remember, we need to leave by one. No exceptions."

I nodded and straightened out my dress. Alfie approached some party people and shook their hands. For a moment, I stood behind him. Then I realized that there were his friends. I blushed and went up the front steps. Before I opened the door, I took note of all the partygoers. They took no notice of me.

I pushed open the front door to Seneca Crane's and stepped in. Instantly, the smell of alcohol reached my nostrils. I did not drink except for times when my family allowed it. The foyer was full of people drinking and laughing. Suddenly, I felt foolish. _What am I doing here? I do not even know any of these people. _

That was a lie. Walking into the parlor, I had to hide behind a grown man. Yuffie sat on the couch, laughing and drinking with a bigger boy. He had his arms around her in a provocative stance. I assumed this was her boyfriend. _I should just leave before she notices me. _I turned to go.

"Effie!" she called.

Everyone stopped talking for a split second. I stopped. _Oh no. _I turned around and saw that she was coming over to me. _She is going to kill me for sure. _Within inches of her, I saw her bloodshot eyes, the makeup beginning to run off and the hint of a bruise threatening to show. I subconsciously backed away.

"Thank goodness you are here," she said and gripped my shoulder sturdily.

The smell of alcohol became insufferable. She was obviously drunk out of her mind. She could hardly stand up and used me for support. Luckily, drunken Yuffie had no obvious vendetta against me. People moved out of her way in case she tumbled over. Her boyfriend looked annoyed at my arrival.

"Come sit, come sit," she slurred.

She dragged me over to the couch and threw herself onto her boyfriend. She patted the seat next to them eagerly. I smoothed out my skirt and sat down, wishing I were somewhere else.

"Hello," I introduced myself, "I'm Effie."

Her boyfriend rolled his eyes. Obviously, he had the problem. Yuffie pulled him closer to her, and he seemed pleased with winning over her attention. I guessed that they would want to be alone within moments.

"Can I get you something to drink?" she asked after resurfacing from her boyfriend's face.

"Um, just some water," I responded uncomfortably.

She got up and kissed her boyfriend again. I looked away. She pushed partygoers out of her way and left for what I assumed was the kitchen.

"You know she hates you," her boyfriend mumbled, "She will probably try to hurt you once she has sobered up."

"Wonderful," I commented, disappointed at their combined immaturity.

"I think you should leave. You have no business here," he added.

I looked at him with disgust. He smirked back with an air of arrogance.

"Whatever," I stood up to go, "You should learn some manners."

"You should learn to keep your legs closed," he responded.

I walked away disgusted. _Who the hell does he think he is? _I felt like crying. This night was such a disaster. I opted for the opposite direction that Yuffie had taken and found myself on a patio. Seneca Crane had a pool. Drunk people floated merrily, uncaring that the whole of the Capitol laughed at them.

I looked into the water. My reflection showed a girl who was unsure of what to do. At least my hair looked nice. _I am such a fool. Why did I come out here? _The water was beautiful. Ripples echoed across my reflected face. The moment was serene.

"There you are!" the slurred voice returned.

I felt a wave of anger pass over me. My reflection in the pool seemed to wave away. _Why can't you just leave me alone?_ Yuffie had her hands all over me again. Her boyfriend ran out of the house. It seemed as if Yuffie had escaped from the zoo and her boyfriend was trying to place her back into a cage.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," she told me pointing at my chest, "You look so good tonight."

"Please go away," I whispered uncomfortable again, "Please just go away."

Yuffie began to breathe heavier. I suddenly knew what she was going to do. _Why do women keep molesting me? _She placed her hands around my waist. People began to look over at us and point. Yuffie, as if egged on by the attention, placed her hands on my face. I closed my eyes, too shocked to move.

"No," I breathed, her lips an inch away from mine.

"So much for rumors, huh?" she whispered.

Then I knew. She was sober. She knew what she was doing. This was her revenge.

"Leave me alone!" I yelled.

Her lips touched mine. My breathing stopped. I opened my eyes in shock. Her eyes were closed, her kiss sincere. She held my face close to her, her strength holding back my shuddering. I struggled in her grasp. People hooted and hollered.

Suddenly, I felt an enormous shove. I knew I was going to fall again. As I tumbled backward, strong arms caught me around the waist.

"She said leave her alone," hollered my big brother.

I opened my eyes. Alfie had caught me over the pool. He had shoved Yuffie into the water. She resurfaced, anger radiating across her face.

"You ruined my dress!" she screamed at him.

I was too shocked to move. I quivered in Alfie's arms. Yuffie struggled to keep afloat.

"See, told you I would catch you," he smiled.

I stood up and hugged him. He patted my back and I laughed. People applauded. Suddenly, someone hit Alfie over the head. Yuffie's boyfriend was picking a fight. He punched Alfie straight in the jaw. It was a palatable hit. Alfie flew back on the ground and fell into the pool. I turned to face his attacker.

"You little bitch," he yelled as her threw a punch at me.

I dodged quickly. _Seriously! Grow up! _I aimed a kick straight at his leg. Surprisingly, he caught my kick and yanked my leg. I stumbled toward him. He sneered and backhanded me in the face. I went limp and everything went black.

After what seemed like an eternity, I opened my eyes. Everything was unfocused, blurred, and fuzzy. A dark figure stood over me.

"Who?" was all I could manage.

"Why hello there," they said, "I am Seneca Crane."


	18. Seneca Crane

**Seneca Crane**

I opened my eyes wider. There he stood, poised transcendentally with his arms folded. He fashioned a crushed velvet vest, covering a silk white blazer. I discovered that I lay on a king-sized bed, red and royal in its appearance. He gently sat down next to me. I turned my face to meet his and noticed his handsome green eyes.

"Seneca Crane," I repeated.

"Effie Trinket," he responded.

I attempted to reposition myself into a more decent pose, but he touched my shoulder in a secure manner. I looked inquisitively at him and he shook his head.

"You took quite a hit. After that backhand, your head met the side of my pool. Unfortunately, you fell into the pool. I thought you might drown, so I jumped in and saved you. Your clothes were drenched, hence your ah, lack, of garments."

It was at that moment I realized I wore nothing but a towel. Glowing red from embarrassment, I avoided his gaze.

"So you saved me?" I commented slyly, holding a blush.

"That I did," he smiled in response, "I got one of my most trusted friends to pull your brother out as well."

"Oh, that was very kind of you, Mr. Crane," I looked over at him again.

"Please, Seneca," he answered, standing up.

"Seneca," I repeated again.

He offered me a hand and I took it. Holding the towel tightly around my body, I rose to my feet. I lingered in grip for a moment, and then blushed deeper.

"There is a powder room through that door," he pointed to a room on the side of his bedroom, "If you require any assistance, I will be here to help."

"Thank you."

He handed my clothes back to me. They had been hand dried and smelled fresh. _How caring! _I accepted the parcels graciously and headed through the door. The powder room smelled delightful. _I could stay here all day. _My reflection showed no external damage to my face, thank goodness, but I sported an uncomfortable lump on my head.

Carefully, I dressed myself. I hoped that if I dressed quickly, Seneca might stay and wait. I took the liberty to brush my hair a bit. It was ruined. _How dreadful. _When I looked decent, I stepped out of the powder room. Seneca stood on one corner of the room, spraying himself with some tasteful cologne.

"Do you light this fragrance?" he offered up the bottle.

I smelled it delicately. It reminded me of the park from my youth. I glowed with the memories of summers past. My eyes practically lit at the stimulus.

"Oh, it's delightful," I squealed.

Seneca smiled and applied a fair amount to his velvet vest. I leaned in close to catch a whiff. My eyes shut momentarily.

"You look lovely, Miss Trinket," he gesticulated.

"Please, Effie," I whispered.

"May I escort you downstairs?" he asked.

I offered my hand. He took it carefully and intertwined his arm around mine. He led the way out of his bedroom and down the carpeted steps to rejoin the party. Partygoers cheered upon our arrival. I glowed from making a full recovery and the pride at having such an important person on my arm.

"Can I offer you something, Effie?" Seneca asked.

"No, thank you," I answered.

As we integrated with the mass, men and women alike stopped to speak with Seneca. I never understood the height of his popularity. Everyone had something positive to say. He never seemed to tire of the attention. I kept an eye out for Alfie, Yuffie, or-heaven help me-her boyfriend. A few minutes later, Alfie ran up to us.

"Seneca, thanks man. For you know, everything," he said and shook Seneca's hand.

Seneca smiled politely and bowed low. One could tell that he came from old money. _And those manners. _Alfie laughed and reminded me that we needed to leave.

"Won't you stay?" Seneca asked, seemingly disappointed to let me go.

"I am sorry but I need to be going," I answered honestly.

He nodded and bowed to me. Then, gently he took my hand and kissed it. I blushed a horrid shade of red. Seneca seemed to shoot me a private look. Alfie fidgeted in his spot, reminding me that we needed to leave.

He grabbed me by the hand and together we left Seneca's house. The whole way back to our house, I smiled. Everything about him was perfect. He had manners and style. He was incredible. I had never fallen for someone like this. Now, we were home.

"How are we going to get in?" I whispered, despising my choice in clothes for the umpteenth time.

"I will climb onto the fence and open the front door. Wait here," he answered.

I shivered outside my house waiting for Alfie. _Hurry up! _He came out the front door moments later. I ran up to my bedroom quietly, thanked Alfie for all his help, and got into clothes that are more comfortable. _Success! _We were safe at home and despite all odds, I had managed to have a magical time with the party host.

The weekend passed in a flash with our parents none the wiser. My reputation rose both from my incidental kiss with Yuffie and with my appearance on the arm of Seneca Crane. Yuffie was finished. Rumor had it that her boyfriend left her. Rumor also had it that her boyfriend was arrested. Then again, I try to avoid rumors.

On Monday, I sat in homeroom talking with my new friends. They questioned me about my adventures. I answered enthusiastically, sparing no details. Suddenly, a well-dressed boy entered the room.

"Flowers! Flowers for Effie Trinket!" he shouted.

The room went silent. I quietly raised my hand, growing used to the constant attention doted on me. The boy crossed the classroom and presented me with a lovely display of beautiful flowers. I smelled the carefully picked daffodils and carnations. They smelled like a bit of heaven. My heart beat quickly. Inside the bouquet, a simply white card sat. I placed the card in my pocket, hoping to see the name on my mind in print.

"Who are they from?" asked someone quickly.

I opened the card and saw a message scribbled neatly. It read:

_Effie, you are so lovely. I would love to see you again. Please meet me in front of the golden statue of President Snow near the City Circle._

On the back were two letters: S.C.

I smiled enthusiastically. Girls ripped the card from my hand, passing it around the room. Whispers began. No doubt, rumors circulated. _I guess you can never get away from it. _


	19. Everything

**Everything**

A few hours later, I stood by the golden statue. My foot tapped impatiently _or excitedly _on the cobblestone. _Where could he be? _Capitol citizens sped past talking with loud voices or fiddling with handheld electronics. I raised myself onto my tiptoes and tried to spot Seneca.

"Looking for someone?" a voice called out from behind the statue.

Spinning around quickly, I spotted him sitting on the base of the statue. He had chosen to sit directly on President Snow's leg. He jumped off the statue and straightened out his clothes. Today, Seneca had chosen a fitted short sleeve and decent black leather pants. I noticed his powerful arm muscles.

"I did not think you were coming," I replied.

He smirked that sly grin again and offered his hand.

"Of course I would be here. What would I be had I not?" his dominant gaze demanded an answer.

"Horrible," I answered breathlessly.

I took his hand. His grip was strong, mighty with ambition.

"What do you say we get to know each other better?" he led me into the City Circle.

We strolled down the cobblestone as elegant as dancers did on a stage. I faintly caught the whiff of his cologne, lilacs infused with ginger. He opened the door of a fine dining restaurant. I refrained from blushing and entered carefully. This particular establishment catered only to the most prestigious Capitol citizens.

"Greetings Mr. Crane. The usual?" asked a sharp-dressed waiter.

Seneca nodded. _The usual? _He guided me with his hand on the small of my back. We followed the waiter upstairs to an outdoor balcony shaded with a miraculous canopy. The balcony overlooked the main square of the City Circle. Seneca held out a lavish chair and I sat down. He chose the seat opposite me.

"What can I please you with?" the waiter asked again.

"My usual of course," answered Seneca, "And the lady may order whatever her heart desires."

I looked over the menu and requested the seafood bisque. Seneca nodded his approval and the waiter left. We sat in silence for a moment, taking in the marvelous sight.

"Effie," he broke the silence, "I would like to know everything about you."

I lost my battle for control and blushed a deep red. Slowly, I began to relay off minute details. Within a few sentences, I noticed how he paid a tremendous amount of attention. I grew more confident, laughing about embarrassing flaws and mentioning little things. He never interrupted, provided appropriate reactions, and maintained eye contact.

"Now it is your turn," I said as the food arrived, "Tell me about yourself."

"I am Seneca Crane. I graduated valedictorian of my class in upper school and secured a position in Games school. I am striving to become Head Gamemaker one day. I own a mansion in the City Circle. Next year, I will travel to a different District for an internship."

On he went about his accomplishments, his dreams, his future goals. I noticed that he never once mentioned family. No parents, no siblings. I gave him furious attention, not daring to touch my food until he had finished.

"You may eat," he gestured toward my plate, "I will not think it rude."

I picked up a fork and began to ingest the seafood. _This is miraculous. There is no humanly way that food can taste so rich. _Seneca ate quietly, using his napkin and silverware properly. _Manners are key. _When we were finished, he ordered dessert.

"Seneca, I don't think I can hold another bite," I laughed.

"Oh try," he laughed too.

"Your life is simply fascinating. You know, I have always professed interest in the Hunger Games. Perhaps we could watch them together this year," I suggested.

"That sounds lovely. Have you thought of applying to Games school? I am sure you would make quite a fantastic stylist," he responded.

"A stylist you say? Well, I have never thought of being a stylist. It all sounds so intriguing. But do you really think I could get accepted to Games school?" I asked unsure.

"From what I understand, your marks are impressive. Your family comes from good money, which is always a plus. Between your father and myself, I am sure we could work something out," he answered.

He knew just what to say. No one had ever treated me like this. When dessert came, I placed my hand gently onto the table. Seneca slid his on top of mine. I brought my eyes up and met his in a moment of serendipitous wonder. I felt a pang of want deep in my stomach.

"What shall we do now?" he asked.

His hand covered mine. His skin felt smooth and warm. Inviting. I prayed that my hand would not sweat under the pressure. He paid for our meal, not letting me have any say in the matter.

We stood up, hand in hand. He guided me over to the balcony and we leaned side by side on the rails. His full lips glowed with the radiance of the dying sunlight. His dark eyes mirrored the sun and turned incandescent. I felt his hand reach for my waist. Gently but forcefully, he pulled me close.

"What does your heart desire?" he whispered in my ear.

"I..."

"I can give you everything."

My eyes closed. I could feel his breath on my ear, setting my senses on fire. _Everything._

The words came out, "Take me home."

The moment disappeared. I felt guilty and defeated. Seneca dropped his shoulders. He released me, the smile threatening to leave his lips.

"I…I am sorry. It is getting late and I must be getting home," I scrabbled desperately.

"Yes, agreed. Come my dear," he answered.

He led me out of the fine restaurant and toward the cobblestone. All the way home, I chanced glances at him. His eyes magnified my resonance of want. _Why? _We strolled home in silence, both utterly defeated by the hiatus of the moment. _Why? Why? Why?_

When we reached my edifice, he stopped me.

"Effie," he began, "I would be lying if I said you did not captivate me in every sense of the word. I enjoy your company greatly."

"Seneca," I interjected, "You are so very kind."

"And you so beautiful," he continued.

"Beautiful."

His hands found my waist again. His strong fingers gripped me close. I could feel that dormant pang strengthen. He teased my hipbone toward him and I obeyed. My hands lay on his built chest, my right feeling his heart beat. The sensation of his breath on my ear returned.

"Oh, Seneca."

"Effie, I want to see more of you."

"Yes."

His lips were an inch from my collarbone. His breath set me on fire. The cologne violated my nostrils in a fructuous manner. _I need him. _

"Tomorrow," I whispered quietly into the air, "Tomorrow, I promise."

His full lips met mine. My eyes closed and my breath held. He held me to him tight. I felt his hands wonder the length of my back. I reached my hand up to his face and felt the hint of stubble. I stroked his cheek, hoping to prolong the moment. _This is it. _

Just as he reached the end of my back, he broke away.

"Tomorrow," he whispered quietly, "I can give you everything."

He left me on my doorstep; his retreating had my mind calling his name.


	20. Losing It

Ahem, slight smut.

* * *

><p><strong>Losing It<strong>

I leaned against the front door, my hand over my fast-beating heart. My eyes closed shortly and fantasies of Seneca's and my encounter replayed in my mind. My breathing slowed and the former smile returned to my lips. Silently, I congratulated myself for having a genuine date. Turning, I opened my front door and walked in.

"How was your date?" asked Alfie.

He was lounging in the parlor, watching some sort of daytime television program. His eyes met mine, which bore an incredulous look. _How did he know? _

"What date?" I laughed nervously.

"Oh, you know. With Seneca Crane? Everyone at school was talking about those flowers he sent you," answered Alfie.

_So he does know. _There was no use feigning ignorance. I hoped that our parents remained in the dark. I do not know how father will react to my generous suitor.

"Oh, he is absolutely charming," I responded.

Alfie would be my confidante. After this week, he would probably be the person I became closest. Well, him and Seneca.

"He is a great guy," Alfie agreed, "You know that he saved you from drowning at the party."

"Yes, he told me," I continued, "He graciously dried my clothing and let me change in his personal powder room."

Alfie remained silent for a moment. He grabbed the remote and muted the television.

"Effie, have a seat," he gestured toward a spot next to him.

Cautiously, I took a seat and looked closer his way. His eyes were red, puffy, and sunken with an exhausted air about them. For a moment, nervousness and anxiety took over. _Is something wrong? Has he been crying?_

"What's going on?" I touched his shoulder gently.

Silently, a tear strolled out of his eye. I waited in pained silence as he wiped it away. He was slightly shaking. I put my arms around him and he rested his head on my shoulder. My hair ran through his smooth hair. He struggled to exhale, and then looked me straight into the eyes.

"Look, I just want you to be careful," he urged in a tough tone, "Seneca is a nice guy. Nevertheless, he is a man. Sometimes men do not always have the best ideas. I trust you to make good decisions."

"Alright father," I jokingly ruffled his hair.

He caught my arm and I stopped.

"Effie, I am being serious. I do not want to see you get hurt. Again," he responded seriously.

The intimacy of the moment brought tears to my eyes.

"Alfie, thank you for caring about me. Thank you for everything. I promise you that I will demonstrate the upmost caution with this relationship," I whispered quietly.

We sat there for several moments, riding out the tide of change. I tried to feel what he felt. _He must feel as though he is losing me. _While I had never been close to him, Alfie really came though as a brother. I recalled incidents in the past in which he rushed by my side. I wanted to tell him that things would not change between us, but I was at a loss for words.

"I care about you so much. I will always be here for you," he mumbled.

Sleep that night brought pleasant dreams of Seneca and nightmares of losing my brother. I awoke the next morning feeling refreshed and excited. _Today is the day. _I brushed back my sleek hair and adorned some fashionable earrings. I opted for light makeup to highlight my features and hide my flaws.

I crossed the City Circle and found myself knocking on Seneca's door. He opened the door and invited me inside. Today, he wore a fitted v-neck and patterned shorts. I almost lost my breath at the sight of him.

"You look stunning," he grinned and embraced.

As his arms enclosed around me, I felt that heated sensation. He wore light cologne, the smell mixed with his natural fragrance. I liked it. We broke apart and I stood on my tiptoes to offer my cheek for a kiss. He obliged and spun me as to catch my lips instead. Again, those feelings came to life.

"So, what did you have in mind for today?" I asked with a look of knowing.

"I was thinking that we could get to know each other more intimately," he whispered in my ear.

I grinned that famous smile. Then my brother's words returned to my stream of consciousness. The want, the desire, the hunger all faded. Pangs of uncertainty, doubt, and anxiety took their places. Seneca was one-step ahead. He scooped me up in one fluid motion, placing one hand on my back and one under my thighs.

I defied gravity. He carried me up his grand staircase, reassuring me with a gentle stroke on my back as he ascended. _What if this is all he wants? Should I be doing this? _The negativity grew as he opened his bedroom door and placed me gently on the edge of his bed. He kneeled in front of me and began to remove my heels.

"Seneca," I said nervously, "I have never done this before. You will be careful, won't you?"

"I would never hurt you Effie," he spoke, "I like you a lot. I would never mess up my chance to be with you."

Seneca had never spoken of pursuing a relationship with me. Suddenly, everything became so real. I was sitting on his luxurious bed, letting him remove my footwear. _How many times had he done this before? Was I just another conquest?_

"Seneca, I do not know if I want to do this. I am nervous that to you, I am just another girl. Please tell me it is not true. Please tell me that you will follow through," I whispered, tears threatening my eyes.

He had removed my shoes. He crossed the room to place them on a small bench. Upon hearing my words, he turned and stopped. Silently, he crossed over and crouched down to look into my eyes. Gently, he took my hands in his. I found his strong grip reassuring.

"Effie, let me be clear. I am not forcing you to do this. You are a beautiful woman, capable of free will. Your decisions are your own. Likewise are mine. And if you will have me, then I promise nothing but love. I will not hurt you," he articulated.

Each word, he spoke with a confident demeanor, enunciating all the key phrases. With his message, my fears faltered. I grew stable, ready, and ahem-willing. Desire overtook my person. I pulled him close to me, needing to feel his hands all over.

"Wait, wait!" he chuckled, "I just want this moment to be special. You are very special to me."

He pulled up his shirt. It took all my self-control to not jump off the bed. He was cut from stone, muscles rippled down his front. I had no idea what sort of training he worked on at Games school, but I was impressed. Once he became indecent, he crossed to the bed. Rolling onto his back, he patted the pillow next to him.

For a moment, I faltered. I knew what he was waiting for. Slowly, I crossed over to him, ready to give up. I lay across the bed and felt his hand on my hip. We began to kiss, exploring each other in full. My breath quickened as the kisses became longer. He teased my hips, moving me under him.

As we kissed, I felt the hunger return. I knew that my satisfaction should ensue in due time, but I wanted the moment to linger. I needed this to be eternal. The steps proceeded just as I had read about with my friends in magazines from days past. Gently kissing became passionate lip locking. Slight touches turned into heavy petting.

The time came. I sat under him, he watching intently as I lifted off my shirt. I refused to feel anything other than want. He took the initiative and reached around my back. Kissing me, he removed our barriers. Now, we were two life forms touching in every sense of the word. His bare skin felt heavenly on mine.

_This is it. The point of no return._

"Are you ready?" a heavily breathed whisper on my ear.

My hand found the backboard of his bed. The other dug deeply into his back. My eyes closed. I bit my lip with anticipation.

"Yes."

Hot flashes. Sweat dripping. Limps entangling. Lips crashing against each other, evolving to bites. Rhythmic movements. Loss of air. Heart beating, pounding, thumping. A lot of thumping. Heated whispers. **More. **Slight whimpers. **More. **Passionate moans. **More. More. More. **Synapses exploding.

Finally, we collapsed. He mustered up the strength to find my lips and offer a kiss. Our hearts beat in unison. My eyes opened. Long deep lines echoes across his back. He worshipped my body-his temple. For what seemed like hours, we lay side by side, grasping onto each other.

Finally he spoke.

"Effie Trinket, I love you."


	21. Parental Control

**Parental Control**

My eyes shot open in surprise. _Love. This man loved me._ He held me close, our bare bodies intertwined on his massive bed. My hand had curled into a fist, which lay on his firm chest. I twisted around to catch his eyes.

"You love me? We have been acquainted for a few days!" I laughed.

I sat up, finding the clothes he had so carefully thrown off me. As I searched, he too sat up. My fist had unraveled and now lay on the bed. I felt his strong hand cover mine.

"I know that our relationship is progressing rather quickly, but it does not change the way I feel about you. If two people hit it off, what factor does time play?" he questioned.

His words seemed like something a poet wrote. His careful articulation and enunciation sent my mind on alert. For someone so new at this, he was a tremendous smooth-talker.

"So what now, Seneca? You have gotten what you wanted. I expect you will be done with me, cast me away as a recluse. A favor to call in when you need to make a lonely night change direction," I snapped.

Tears pooled in my eyes. _He does not care about me. He wanted one thing, the thing I so willingly gave up. _The pressure on my hand lifted.

"Where is this coming from, Effie? What makes you think that I want to abandon this relationship? You think I only wanted one thing. Well, you were right. All I wanted was someone special, someone who made me feel the way you make me feel. And I found her."

I stopped, frozen with the horror that my words had inflicted. In his soliloquy, I sensed betrayal. Betrayal from me. _What kind of a monster behaves the way I just did?_ I spun quickly to face him and saw the disappointment on his face. Fearing the loss of him, I reached out and grabbed his hand. He gave a slight pull of defiance.

"No, please. Do not pull away. I am quite sorry, really I am," I sputtered quickly, "Please do not leave."

He sighed deeply, his chest rising to an unnatural height.

"Please," I whispered.

He looked at me, and I soared across the bed into his arms. He held me tight, kissing me with passion.

"You are all I want," he whispered into my hair, "Be mine."

"Of course," I replied with almost inaudible words, "I'm yours."

From that moment, Seneca and I began a fierce relationship. He more or less authenticated his asking, claiming me his girlfriend. I was quite pleased with this development, convincing myself that he knew what was best for me. For the rest of the week, we explored the Capitol as a couple, laughing and loving all the way.

Come the end of the week, he delivered me at my doorstep as per usual. He bid me farewell with a parting kiss, and I told him to expect a call. I stepped into my house to find a familiar scene. Instead of Alfie waiting, my parents lounged in the parlor, quieting upon my entrance.

"So nice of you to join us," began mother.

My parents each held a large, elegant glass filled with champagne. While waiting for my response, mother lowered her glass.

"Hello," I responded carefully.

I had not told them of Seneca, hoping to avoid any complications in our new relationship. I prayed that they would not suspect anything. I was in for disappointment.

"Who's your new friend?" asked father.

His face seemed stern, uncommon for him. This set me on alert, as he never became rigid with me. I tried to empathize with him, but lost in favor of my happiness. There was no lie that I could tell. They knew, had known, about him. I reasoned that I had nothing to be ashamed of.

"Seneca Crane," I answered.

Alfie appeared at that moment. He looked unsure of something, both pained at my awkwardness and confused by father's stern look.

"Am I in trouble?" I asked.

"Of course not dear," answered mother.

I breathed a sigh of relief, pleased with the absence of confrontation. Mother gestured to the couch, and I sat down. For a moment, we suffered in silence. Still, something seemed amiss.

"What is your relation with Seneca?" spoke my father.

"Um," I sputtered, startled at his interjection.

"Friends," cut in Alfie sharply, "And quite a good one might I add."

"I see," said father, turning his attention to Alfie, "However, I believe that Effie can speak for herself."

"Alfie is correct. We are good friends," I answered.

"See darling, I told you that," mother said to father.

"Is he courting you?" father questioned.

No one said anything. Horrible silence followed. I had no idea that adding a boyfriend to my life was such a problem. Fear overtook my anxiety. _Would he force me to break up with Seneca? Would he possible hurt him? _

"Yes father," I responded, "We are a couple."

Mother placed her hand over her mouth. I could not tell if this was a good sign or bad. Alfie shut his eyes. Only father maintained eye contact. Slowly, he got to his feet.

"Invite him over for dinner," was all he said as he left the room.

Mother, Alfie, and I sat in the parlor quietly. I was not prepared for any of this. Of course, having Seneca over for dinner would not be a problem. Hopefully, my parents could remain decent enough to maintain civil conversation. Seneca did not need help presenting himself as a kind man. Still, this prospect of introducing both parties made me uncomfortable.

I tried to speak to mother, but she held a finger up. Instead of talking, she pointed to the phone on the wall. Then she nodded and left too. I turned to Alfie for guidance. He reassuringly nodded. I crossed to the phone and punched in Seneca's number. Hopefully, he would already be home.

"Hello?" he answered on the third ring.

"Seneca, my parents want you to come over for dinner," I got right to the point.

"Tonight?"

"Tonight."

"Is everything alright, darling?"

"Yes. Everything is fine. I am just….worried. Father does not seem too pleased with me, and I fear it has something to do with my behavior of late."

"Perhaps he fears that he might be losing you."

"Perhaps. That is not the case though. However, I am frightened."

"Fear not. I will attend dinner."

"Thank you. I love you."

"I love you too."

I hung up the phone quickly as if someone could detect the delicate words in their passing. Alfie had closed his eyes again. He escorted me to our parents, where I relayed that Seneca had accepted my dinner proposal. I was then dismissed to my room.

In the time that proceeded dinner, my nerves were set aflame. I did not fear on Seneca's behalf, knowing all too well that he was capable of handing himself. What I did fear was father's reactions to us as a couple. I had never seem him behave this way before.

I adorned a beautiful pearl necklace with matching earrings. A simple gown would suffice. As I fixed my hair, the doorbell rang. Fearing the worst, I hurried to answer it. Alfie, however, had beaten me. He stood in a mannered suit and threw open the door.

"Ah, Seneca. Good to see you," he shook hands with our guest.

Seneca appeared in our edifice, wearing that crushed velvet vest he had worn upon my meeting him. He had styled his hair in a Capitol manner. Overall, he looked divine. I breathed a sigh of relief and descended the stairs.

"You look lovely," he pulled me to him and embraced me.

"Thanks," I mumbled, my nerves taking hold.

His strong grip seemed to calm me. I tried to breathe but the sight of father sent me into a state of mental hysteria. I led Seneca into our dining room.

"Father and mother, this is Seneca Crane, my boyfriend," I announced, "Seneca, these are my parents."

Seneca crossed to father and shook his hand firmly. The men made direct eye contact, intense enough to set Panem ablaze.

"Lovely to meet you," replied Seneca, crossing to mother and kissing her hand.

We sat down and began to eat. Mother had prepared a plate of greens, a delicious stew, and a hearty platter of meat. For a few moments, silence undertook our group. Then, mother broke the silence.

"So, Seneca. What do you do for a living?" she asked.

"I am currently attending Games school with the hopes of becoming a Gamemaker. In my spare time, I work in a business office," he answered, smoothing his napkin over his lap.

"I see that you demonstrate proper etiquette," she continued.

"Manners are very important," Seneca responded with a smile.

Mother shot me an approving look, to which I breathed a sigh of relief. I knew how mandatory manners were in my family. He sure knew what to say. Father spoke finally.

"What are your intentions regarding my daughter?"

I nearly choked. Leave it to father. Alfie patted me on the back, and I excused myself. Seneca suppressed a smile and placed a hand on my leg under the table.

"Sir, I love your daughter with all my heart. I intend to be there for her and support her through her new decision," he answered.

"New decision? I am afraid that I am not following, Mr. Crane," responded father.

"Effie has decided to attend Games school."


	22. Surprise

**Surprise**

No one spoke for the better part of two minutes. I turned bright red at Seneca's words. It was true. I talked it over with Seneca amongst our outings to which he convinced me pursuing Games school would prove beneficial. However, I had not planned to tell anyone, let alone my family.

"Oh? Well, that is news to us," commented father.

Alfie shot me a look of confusion with undertones of disgust. I knew from watching the Games with him that he was not a fan. Mother too looked uncomfortable. Father gave no hint of pleasure or shame.

"I was planning on telling you," I shot a nasty look at Seneca, "Seneca and I have discussed attending together."

"You know Games school is quite expensive," began father finally meeting my eyes, "How do you expect us to pay for all this?"

"If I may," interjected Seneca, "I would be willing to put in a good word for her. With my influence, I am sure that the tuition would lower significantly."

Father seemed to register Seneca's words with an air of awe. Now, he paid eager attention to everything my boyfriend had to say. Mother and Alfie shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Mother seemed to be discussing her qualms in her head, and ultimately, her pride wore out.

"That is fantastic, Effie," she said, "I am sure you will become a fantastic stylist."

"Oh, I am not going to be a stylist," I commented, "I am interested in becoming an escort. Seneca says they make more money and receive more credit."

"An escort? What business do you have in becoming an escort?" chuckled father.

"I have always enjoyed the Games. I wish to pursue a more active role," I explained, "Of course; I would work side by side with the mentors. They are previous victors, you know."

"Of course, I know," snapped father, "So you would have an insight on the inner workings of the Games."

"I suppose," I said, "Seneca would know more. He is going to be a Gamemaker, after all."

Father finally seemed to register the weight of our words. He made the connection between Seneca and Gamemaker. Together, they equaled wealth, fame, and fortune. He took a better look at Seneca, forcing himself to seem pleased.

"You said that you would use influence to lower the price?" he asked Seneca.

"That is correct. I love your daughter and I am interested in seeing her succeed," Seneca answered.

His grip on my leg seemed to tighten. For a moment, I was so impressed with Seneca's qualities that I considered leaning across the table to kiss him. Mother would not be pleased with this though, after all manners mattered. At this point both mother and father were impressed with Seneca. Only Alfie seemed displeased with my idea of furthering my education with a focus on the Hunger Games. After a moment, he excused himself from the table.

Pointless political banter spewed out of both father and Seneca's lips, drowning me in slogans and jargon. I gave no interest in this part of their conversation, choosing instead to focus on the contour of Seneca's body as he spoke. I also thought about my decision to attend Games school. I would need to be accepted first, a small problem when your boyfriend was the most popular student at the school. Secondly, I thought about how great it would be to attend class with Seneca. Of course, he would be in different classes. However, we would be able to see each other between classes. The whole situation was ideal. Father brought me out of my reverie.

"Well Seneca, it seems you have quite a stable head on your shoulders. I am pleased that you are my daughter's partner. I invite you to view the Reaping with us tomorrow evening."

"Thank you very much sir," Seneca bowed, "I would like that."

Dinner concluded with a firm handshake between the men. I escorted Seneca over to our front door. He embraced me in a courteous fashion. I felt disappointed, wanting more from him but knowing with my parents in eyesight by hopes were dashed.

"Goodnight," he ushered and departed.

"Night," I whispered to nothing.

My parents relayed their pleasure with Seneca for a few moments, and then dismissed me to my room. I climbed the steps, but avoided my bedroom. Instead, I traveled the hallway to Alfie's room. I knocked on his door twice. Nothing. I knocked again. Still, there was no answer. Growing worried, I pushed open the door.

"What?" spat Alfie.

He sat on his bed, his stereo playing music. I stood awkwardly in the doorway for a moment, then walked in and shut the door.

"I just want-…" I began.

"What, Effie?" he raised his voice, "Why are you here?"

"Why are you here?" I shot back, "Why did you leave?"

"Why do you care?" he turned over.

"This is not twenty questions," I started, "I think it was very rude of you just to leave. Why mother almost suffered a heart attack at your lack of manners."

I tried to make him laugh. It did not work.

"Effie, this is not funny. Please leave."

Instead of leaving, I sat down on his bed. I tried to reach out to him, but he shied away.

"What's wrong with you?" I whispered.

"You!" he shouted spinning around, "I do not want you to go to Games school."

"Why not?" I asked defensively.

"Oh, come on. You know how I feel about the Games. I do not understand how you people can find such pleasure in watching children die. And you? You want to be a part of it. You want to escort children, stealing them from their homes and families, and bring them to their death. A death, mind you, that your perfect boyfriend is creating for them. You make me sick."

_You people. Stealing. Sick. _His words hit me like a bullet. I felt as though I had suffered a physical assault. Words could not express my horror. Horror at Alfie for condemning me. Horror at myself for my decisions. I tried without success to speak. Three times, I opened my mouth to no avail. Finally, I left the room.

Walking to my room, a myriad of feelings attacked me. Anger. Disappointment. Shame. I felt sick. I wanted to cry, but no tears would come. Shock. Now that was a good one. Shocked by the course of the evening. I went to bed that night shocked.

The next morning, I did not speak to Alfie. We made indirect eye contact throughout breakfast. Mother decorated the house with Hunger Games paraphernalia, conversing with her Capitol friends on the phone. Excited tones escaped her. Father strutted about the house, enthusing Alfie and me about the ceremony.

"Where is Seneca?" he asked excitedly.

"He should be here shortly," I answered.

I wondered how he had felt about last night. He seemed anxious to leave the more I thought about it. I thought about him more and more as the day progressed.

"And you?" father asked Alfie, "Is your girlfriend coming over for the Games?"

"No. You did not invite her," answered Alfie bitterly, "And I will not be participating in the viewing either."

"What?" spat father, "What do you mean 'not participating'?"

"I mean that I am leaving," he stood up, "Have a great Reaping. May the odds be ever in your favor."

With that, he promptly left the house. Mother and I shared an anxious glance. Father seemed distressed, debating whether to pursue him. He decided against it, and borrowed the phone when mother was done. I sat in silence, guilt rising in my chest. Finally, I decided that I would walk over to Seneca's and spend some time with him before the Reaping. We could both use some stress-free activity.

I searched the City Circle for Alfie. After a few moments, I gave up and headed toward Seneca's home. I decided that I would surprise him. _Surprises are the greatest gift._ I laughed as I imagined his reaction to seeing me. As I neared his house, I noticed a car in the driveway.

Seneca did not own a car. He definitely did not own this particular vehicle, a pink hovercraft on wheels. _Seneca would never own such a feminine car. Feminine. Female. _But, it did not make sense. Why would Seneca have a girl's car in his driveway? I stopped in my tracks. _He has a girl over._

Anxiety hit. Followed by panic. Denial. Anger. Curiosity. Depression. _What to do. What to do. _I stood still, confused. His window! I could see his large parlor window. And there he was! And there she was! And they were embracing! _What? Who? How? _

I did the only thing that seemed to make sense. I went up to his door and threw it open. I dashed into the parlor and saw the sight in full.

"Seneca!"


	23. Cast Away

**Cast Away**

He spun on his heel, dropped the embrace, and began to go red in the face. I stood, momentarily stunned by the discovery of actual people, and crossed my arms sternly. Seneca rushed over toward me, his hands extended.

"Effie! This is not what it looks like, I swear," he spoke breathlessly.

"It's not? Then would you like to explain what you are doing?" I responded shrilly.

The girl stepped out from behind Seneca, moving cautiously as if I might decide to attack her. She looked older than me, probably a classmate of his from Games school. She touched Seneca gently on the back. She opened her mouth to speak.

"Silence!" I snapped to her, "I have no interest in your words, you hussy."

At this insult, a look of anger crossed her face.

"That was uncalled for," spoke Seneca, "Please, I can explain."

"Explain what?" I interrupted, "Explain how you just happen to have another girl in your house, alone. Explain how I care for you so much that I come over here to surprise you and find you cheating on me."

"He is not cheating on you!" the girl hollered from behind Seneca.

"Oh? And that's exactly what he wants me to think," I sneered, "You know what? Forget you, Seneca."

I turned to leave, infuriated by his actions and her words.

"She is my sister."

My hand was on the doorknob.

"She is visiting from another part of the Capitol. I have not seen her for years. She surprised me."

Horror flooded my being. For the second time, might I add. Not only could I tell that his words were true, I could tell that he grew tired of my useless accusations and bickering. I feared turning around, scared of what the consequences of my outburst would be. I feel a slight tremor run down my spine. I just want to run, go far away from this dreadful scene.

"Venia Crane," she says behind me, "Pleasure to make your acquaintance."

It is no good. Now that she has made such a gesture, I cannot possibly offend her further. I take a deep breath and turn back to the couple. Venia has stepped in front of Seneca, extending her hand in greeting. I look past her into Seneca's eyes and see pain. Deep pain.

I grab her hand firmly, hoping to redeem myself.

"Effie Trinket," I manage, "I am so sorry about my rudeness."

Venia looks calm, amused even. She nods toward the couch, offering me a seat. I cross quietly, trying to avoid Seneca's eyes. Venia sits next to me, Seneca across. Before I sit, I smooth my skirt out unconsciously. My hands sweat with nervousness.

"So, I am going to let you two talk. Seneca, I will be outside making a phone call. Feel free to invite me back inside once you have settled out your business," Venia stands to leave.

We both let her go silently, not daring to speak until she is out of earshot. Once the front door closes, he speaks.

"Effie, I cannot believe you thought me a cheater. Have I not told you time and time again that my feelings are pure? My intentions true? You once spoke of me casting you away as a recluse, yet you have so easily thrown me to the wolves. Perhaps you would like to make further accusations? Peg me incestuous as well. That is your way, so be it."

He stood up without saying another word. I knew this was my chance to win him back. But I dared not speak. He stood relentlessly, waiting for anything. To his surprise, I stood and left. He glanced me a look of dismissal upon my exit. I stepped down from his porch, sulked across his driveway, and ignored his sister. I wanted to put as much distance between his house and me.

The day had turned sour, the weather threatening a storm. I could not go home yet. I was in no mood to face my manically upbeat mother and deadbeat father. Suddenly, I felt furious. Furious at everyone.

_Curse you father for spending so much money on useless trinkets. What a Trinket you, yourself, are. Curse you mother for never backing me on my decisions and letting me break my heart on a useless conquest. Curse you Alfie for letting me get so far. Curse you. Curse you. Curse you._

I casted away my family, the three people that I considered myself closest to. I scampered to the City Circle, choosing to view the Reaping from an indoor venture. When I neared the attractions, I chose a rowdy bar over Seneca's fine choice of establishment. The bar I entered smelled foul, full of wasted men and women with nothing better to do.

_What a fool I am. What a fool. _I could not take myself seriously. Here I was, sixteen years old, heartbroken in a run-down bar. The epitome of a failure. I sulked over to the bar. People questioned my appearance, but ultimately decided it a lost cause. There was no drinking age in Panem, especially not in the Capitol. I took a seat on a rickety stool across from a television.

"What can I do you for, sweets?" asked a paunchy bartender.

He cleaned out a filthy mug that mother would have a conniption over. I faced him, my eyes filled with dread and self-loathing.

"Something strong," I mumbled.

He left to prepare and I sank lower on my stool. I hated everything. So easily had I cast away my family that they were not to blame anymore. All my resentment, all my hate, was cast onto him.

_ Curse you, Seneca Crane. You, the one who so easily stole my heart and made me feel unique. You, the one who vowed true love and eager devotion. You, the one who took my virginity and cast me aside. You, the one who let me get away. You, the one who knew what was best for me. You, the only one who I ever loved. _

"Here, take it easy. I do not want any vomit on my bar."

A mug was placed in front of me. It frothed with disgusting consistency. _What the hell am I doing? _This looked absolutely foul. How many people ruined their life over this? And here I was, about to become another statistic in the stupid Capitol. As if on cue, the Reaping began.

I took a hearty swig of beer. The foul liquid set my throat on fire. I choked it down, capturing attention from the bar patrons. Instantly, I felt their eyes judging me. Condemning me. Casting me away. I grew further infuriated, my swigs fuller. In moments, I had requested a second mug.

The longer I drank, the angrier I became. The Reaping proceeded before my eyes, the foolish District 1 and 2 tributes volunteering.

"You are so full of it!" I screamed toward the screen, "Do you actually think you will win? No one wins. You do not have what it takes."

People laughed at my outburst, egging the bartender to further intoxicate me. He joyfully filled me a ninth mug of beer. He set it in front of me, avoiding my hands as I snatched it. The froth bubbled over, coating my sleeves in filth.

"Hey honey," some old man who resembled a potato spoke, "How about we go back to my place and I will show you a Reaping of my own."

"Yeah, yeah. Sounds good. You go on ahead," I dismissed him with a wave of my hand, not paying any attention to anything other than the Reaping.

When a girl from District 3 was picked and burst into tears, I cackled with glee.

"You are first. I doubt you will live past the first day," I yelled.

Internally, my conscience had taken a vacation to District 12 and was currently buried under their coals. I cared about nothing except the forthcoming demise of these children. I remained drinking; my loyalties tied more to a glass than to a man. I watched the remainder of the District 3 Reaping, and then ordered another drink.

"You are going to have to slow down," ordered the bartender.

"You do not tell me what to do!" I howled at him, infuriated once again, "So help me, I will come over there and make your life a living hell."

Again, people laughed at me. Had I been sober, I imagine that I would laugh at me too. But I was not sober; I was drunk out of my mind. And infuriated. I got up. The second I stood up, I knew it was a mistake. Red spots danced in front of my eyes, threatening to obscure my vision. I wobbled over to the bartender and seized my glass.

"Take that," I spat at him.

Literally. Which evolved into drool. Which evolved into vomit. I threw up all over the bar, the bartender, and at least three patrons. The laughing ceased and sounds of disgust took their placed. The bartender flicked off the vomit angrily, grabbing my glass.

"I want you out of here. Immediately," he pointed toward the exit.

I wobbled out of the bar, screaming obscenities as I left. Now, I was good and drunk. Where to go? I could go home, meet my parents, and receive a punishment so severe that I would be allowed out after the duration of the Hunger Games. Or, I could go to Seneca's and make his life hell. That sounded good. I started in the direction of his house.

_Oh, Seneca. When I get my hands on you. I am going to scream right in your face for what you have done to me. I am going to light your prized possessions on fire. I am going to cut up every single one of your shirts. I am going to turn your world upside down._

When I got to his house, it was dark. A single light shone from his parlor. His sister's car sat in the driveway. Upon my arrival, the security lawn lights turned on. I wobbled up the steps and leaned on the doorbell. While I waited for someone to answer, I vomited on his bushes.

The front door opened. He stood there, unsure of what he was seeing. I pointed at his chest with my finger and began my well-rehearsed scolding.

"Seneca, you are..."

And then I passed out.


	24. Going Under

**Going Under**

A dim light shines overhead. My head is swimming, swimming through mud. The mud is so thick that I have to fight to stay above the surface. The mud is thickening, dragging me down into its earthly roots. I am going under. Submerging, I drown. In actuality, I lean over and throw up everywhere.

"We might need another bag," from under the mud, I hear the whisper.

Filth and vile. I can feel grime growing onto me. I feel disgusting. Yet, I just cannot get free. The mud threatens again, grasping me and forcing me under. More vomiting. The dim light gets brighter. I notice that my vision is askew. Something is holding my head down.

"Here are some bags. This room needs to be fumigated," more whispers.

Sweat drips down from my forehead. I am cold, shivering, freezing. There is no mud, but I can feel my head sinking in it. Only a strong vice, which holds me down. I want to scream. I cannot remember how I happened upon this place. My memories are distorted.

"He…hel…help"

My throat burns. I can taste nothing but spew. I want to cry. I need to get away. _Why is everything so jumbled? _The light is getting brighter. I can make out a doorway. My head is held down tight. It becomes hard to breathe. I reach for the vice that holds my head down. Shock hits me when I feel the familiar touch of skin.

I am suffocating. I can feel vessels bursting throughout my body. My eyes, once so beautiful, will be the first to go. Capillaries will seize up, expecting blood that will never arrive. I am going to die. Frantically, I scramble for the hand that holds my head in place. I claw at the skin, begging it to let me go. Now, I am panicking. Spots dawn over my eyes.

"Stop. Stop! You're killing me!" I manage to choke out.

The grip holds tighter. I can feel my last breath in my throat. It is bubbling fiercely, trying to surface out of my mouth. My stomach convulses, undoubtedly shutting down. If I could cry, I would. My grip becomes weak on the murdering hand. With all the strength I can muster, I force the breath up into my throat.

"Ready the bag."

_I am going to suffocate. They will hold the bag over my face until I die. _I try harder, forcing the breath out. I open my lips. Vomit, clear and stinging, rages out of my mouth. I cough in surprise. Slowly, the grip loosens. Shaking, I sit upright and try to focus on my surroundings.

"Drink this."

A red cup, full of clear liquid. _Is this vomit? Is this liquor? _I raise the glass to my lips. _Oh, my throat burns. _I let the liquid seep down into my churning stomach. Relief spreads through the drying capillaries. I am not going to die.

My vision refocuses. Familiarity strikes. I am in Seneca Crane's bedroom. He is standing by the door, ready to grab more bags if needed. Turning, I spot his sister on the bed next to me. She must have been the one holding my head down. I understand now. They are helping nurse my hangover.

I am so embarrassed. Tears pool out of my eyes. The room smells awful. Seneca looks disgusted and worried. _What have I done? _The bedroom, once so beautiful and majestic, becomes a wasteland. Closer examination shows the bed and floor have donned a plastic protector.

"How do you feel?" Venia whispers, gently touching my back.

I look into her eyes, expecting malice for everything I have put her through. Instead, I see concern. Genuine concern at that. I grasp her hand and nod slowly, assuring her that everything will be alright. She leads me over to the powder room. We walk in and she closes the door behind us.

"Let's clean you up," she says.

She walks over to the gratuitous bathtub and begins to let the water run. She adds all sorts of salts, powders, and liquids. The water turns a spectacular lilac color, emitting a pleasant odor. While we wait, she sits on the outside of the tub. Slowly, I begin to remove my clothing. Venia glances me over with a caring eye, looking for lacerations or bruising. When the water reaches an acceptable height, she gestures for me to get in.

"I will wash your clothing while you bathe. If you need anything, just call and I will come back," she instructs.

She leaves. I sink down into the warm liquid, feeling the vile melt away. The purple liquid saturates my skin, erasing any sign of roughness. I realize that the chemicals Venia has added provide the best care the Capitol can provide. My eyes close in relaxation. _How nice. _

The bath lasts around twenty minutes. I drain the tub and begin to clean myself up. My hair has undergone quite a journey. By brushing and untangling, it reshapes into something acceptable. Looking into the full-scale mirror, I can see the effects of the bath. I am left with a warming glow to my skin, illuminating and highlighting my more feminine attributes, namely my curves. A light knock resonates on the door.

"May I come in?"

_His _voice. I reach behind me and grab a towel. Not that it matters. I just want to redeem as much self-respect as I can.

"Come in."

The door opens. I look delicate in my reflection, my hands innocently placed rather than provocative. He steps into the powder room, gently closing the door behind him.

"How do you feel?" he questions and inspects.

"Much better," I respond, "Thank you."

He steps toward me, cautiously as if I may lash out at him. I allow him to close the distance between us. Suddenly, I forget any fury or hate that I have toward him. I burst into tears. His strong arms enclose around me, protecting me from myself. Through tears, I view the mirror. We look so tragic, so unfortunate in our embrace. I catch sight of his eyes, closed with a feeling of healing, a single tear rolling down his cheek.

"Seneca," I whisper, "I am so sorry."

"Effie," he answers, "I love you. I am sorry."

We stand there in a tragic embrace, my tears gently falling. He holds me tight, providing warmth and safety. I feel guilty, guilty because Seneca feels guilty. After what seems like eternity, he releases me. I want to scream for him to hold on and not let go. He fumbles under the counter and produces a cup, filling with water. He gives it to me, and I drink the contents.

"What am I going to do with you?" he speaks aloud.

I give him a curious look. A pang of horror fills me with the thought of him leaving.

"Please don't leave me," I sputter, water tricking out.

"Why though? I fear that you are not satisfied with me," he states indifferently.

"No, no. I am more than pleased with you. You are the greatest thing to me. Seneca, I love you," I placed the cup down.

With my words, I felt something. Something that I had never felt before. True devotion. It hit me like a ton of coals. He became so real. Our love became real. The childish hunger that I had felt was nothing compared with the overflow of emotions. I threw myself at him, offering up anything I could. I had the urge to please him, right here.

"Effie, Effie," he chuckled, "I love you too, you must know this. But this unparalleled hunger? Where is it coming from? Are you furious with me? Are you in need of something?"

"Oh, I most definitely need something," I growled, "You."

He took my hint.


	25. Vacationing Indefinitely

A/N: Hello, my lovelies. I hope that you all had a wonderful holiday season. And as per usual, thank you everyone for reading + reviewing :)

* * *

><p><strong>Vacationing Indefinitely<strong>

We left the bathroom holding hands and grinning. Everything felt much better and the taste of filth had disappeared. Venia lounged in the parlor, casting us a sly glance upon our arrival.

"Your clothes are in the dryer. I will bring them to you when they finish," she spoke.

"Thank you very much," I smiled.

The clock in the parlor read late evening. A pang of nervousness shot through me. I had not yet called my parents. It must have been days since the Reaping. I bolted to my feet.

"I need to use the phone!" I squeaked hysterically to Seneca.

He gestured toward the landline, which sat on the wall. I rushed over, pulled the phone off the receiver, and frantically punched in the numbers. The dial tone rang twice before mother picked up.

"Hello?" her voice sounded distant.

"Mother," I spoke into the mouthpiece.

"Effie Trinket. Where have you been?" she hollered in my ear.

"Mother, I am so sorry. I ran into a bit of trouble and ended up at Seneca's home. He and his sister have been looking after me," I explained quickly.

I did not want her knowing about any part of my escapade, least of all my drunken caper. The line was silent for a few moments. I imagined mother holding one hand over the receiver, telling father that things were all right. Finally, she spoke again.

"How rude of you to not call us. Now you and your brother had best get home this instant. Your father and I have been worried sick. Neither of you has made any attempt to contact us."

"What?" I spoke, only hearing the first part of her spiel.

"Further, you missed the Reaping entirely and made seem unfit as parents. We had to lie and say you were out at a friend's house. Well, now I find out that you actually were. However, that is beside the point."

"No, mother. What did you say about Alfie?" I ask.

"Put him on, I should just as well give him an earful. He was so disrespectful to your father, leaving like that."

"Mother, he is not with me," I spoke calmly.

The line fell silent again. Moments passed and I began to feel anxious. After what seemed like an eternity, she got back onto the line.

"Well, where is he?"

"I have no idea. He has not shown up to Seneca's. Have you tried his girlfriend's house?" I asked thinking of places he may be.

"No. He broke it off with her a few days ago. Didn't you know that?" her patronizing voice wounded me.

For people as close as Alfie and I, I knew nothing of his solitude. I assumed that things were going fine between him and his partner. Then again, mother was the gossip queen of the Capitol.

"I guess not. And he has not contacted you?" I asked, diverting the subject.

"You did not either," she pointed out.

"Look, I am sorry. What are we going to do about Alfie?"

"Well, you will be grounded indefinitely. I imagine the Hunger Games will conclude by the time you will be free. Say good-bye to Seneca and come home," she hung up the phone.

I absorbed her words with displeasure and replaced the phone. _Well, now that I am grounded I may as well try to find Alfie. _Seneca hurried to my side.

"What's wrong?" he asked concerned.

"It seems as though Alfie has not come home since the Reaping," I gushed.

"Do you think he is hurt?" Venia asked.

"I do not know. He never stays out late without telling someone. I need to look for him," I shout, heading for the door.

"Hold on. You are not even wearing clothes," Seneca points out.

I stop. He is right, of course. There is not much I can do, searching for Alfie in the Capitol wearing nothing but a towel. Venia rushes toward the dryer, prepared to arm me with garments. Seneca comes over to me and runs a hand through my hair.

"Do not worry, Venia and I will accompany you on your quest to find Alfie. I am sure that we will locate him in no time," he speaks with an air of knowing.

I absorb Seneca's words and find relief. Then I remember the indefinite grounding.

"Seneca, mother is most displeased with my behavior. She has banned me from social events, so I fear our time is limited. I want you to know that I care for you greatly," I look into his eyes.

"And I care for you. I will wait however long that I must for you to return to me. One day, thing will be different. We will be free," he answers.

_Free? _Before I can say another word, Venia returns and thrusts my clothing into my arms. I dress hastily, uncaring about other people. In a moment, the three of us have loaded into Venia's car, patrolling the streets.

"Where does he normally go?" asks Venia from behind the wheel.

I sit next to her, pointing out directions.

"Well, we could check his former girlfriend's house. Maybe she knows his whereabouts," I suggest.

I point out the way to her house, having been there once before. We arrive around sunset, pulling into her driveway. I jump out of the car and ring her doorbell. To our great fortune, she opens the door.

"Hello Effie," she says in surprise.

"Hello. I was wondering have you seen Alfie?" I ask without time for pleasantry.

"No, not since he broke up with me," she states, a look of concern in her eyes, "Why? Is he in trouble?"

I do not quite know how to answer. I simply thank her for her time and return to Venia's car.

"Nothing?" she asks, "Where to now?"

"Well, one of his friend's lives close by," I remember, directing her to his friend's home.

Again, I lunge out of the car and hurl myself at the doorbell. He answers with a confused look on his face.

"Uh, hey Effie," he glows bright red, "Fancy seeing you here."

"Yes, yes. Look, have you seen Alfie?" I ask impatiently.

"He told me that you and your family were going on vacation. My, that is a lovely dress. He left here yesterday."

"Vacation? To where?" I practically throw him against a door to get a clear answer.

"I have no clue. Really, you look so beautiful. You always look beautiful. Did something happen to him?" he talks quickly.

"Cut it out," I snap his eyes into focus, "When exactly did he leave?"

"He left at about nine last night. Said that he was going to meet you and the parents at the train station. My, your eyes are just-…"

I shut the door in his face and instruct Venia toward the train station.

"Hurry!" I pound the windshield in anger.

We arrive just as a train is departing. I estimate that it would take twenty minutes walking time to get to the train station from his friend's house. We run into the station and commandeer the front of the line, much to the protest of ticket-buyers.

"Sir!" I yell to the clerk behind the counter, "I am looking for someone."

"You and everyone else. Are you going to buy something?" he snaps over the microphone.

A few snickers emit from the disgruntled patrons. Seneca pushes forward and talks to the clerk. After a moment, and if I am not mistaken a few bundles of currency are passed through the booth, he seems to cooperate.

"You are looking for trains that departed yesterday evening, correct?" he asked, "What time frame?"

"Anything after nine thirty," I spout quickly.

"Well, you are in luck. There was only one train last night that departed after that time."

"Yes, yes. To where?" I am livid with frustration.

"A one way trip," he states indifferently, "To District 2."


	26. Help Is On The Way

**Help Is On The Way**

My heart stopped. _District 2. District 2 was not in the Capitol. Alfie was not in the Capitol. He was in District 2. He was not coming back. _I knew very few things about District 2. We learned in lower school that they served the Capitol by making weapons. They also specialized in stone cutting made possible by their enormous rock quarries.

"A one way trip?" I finally asked.

"Yes," responded the clerk impatiently, "That means the train stops in District 2, but does not come back to the Capitol. I am sorry miss, but it seems that whoever you are looking for will not be returning."

"Maybe he could be visiting someone," whispered Venia from behind me.

"Nonsense. He does not know anyone in 2. He has no business in 2," I snapped.

"Effie, maybe he will come back. Maybe he will not. But right now, there is nothing we can do," replied Seneca, "Come on, we will take you back home."

"No. That is not good enough. I need to find him. Why would he just go to 2? Why?" I practically screamed.

We were causing a scene. Patrons in line began to yell for us to get out of the line. Security came over. Seneca met them to begin explaining my actions. Meanwhile, Venia tried to lead me away from the ticket booth.

"Why is he in 2?" I kept screaming to no one.

She opened the car door and strapped me in the backseat. Methodically, she rubbed my shoulders. After a minute, I burst into frustrated tears. _Why is he in 2? There is no reason for him to have left! _Seneca hurried back to the car. He sat next to me in the backseat, holding me close. I cried into his shirt.

Venia pulled into my driveway. Instantly, mother and father ran out of the house. I exited the car carefully and clung to mother as she reached the car. Father pulled Seneca out of the back and interrogated him relentlessly. Mother dragged me into the house before I could get a chance to bid Seneca and Venia farewell.

"What happened?" she inquired, sitting me down on the couch.

"He is gone!" I shrieked, "Alfie. He went to District 2. One way. He is not coming back."

"Why would he go to District 2? How do you know?" she pushed me further.

"I asked his friend. He said that Alfie lied about a family vacation and left last night. Mother, why is this happening?"

At the conclusion of my words, mother got up and rushed out of the house. I could see her running over toward father through the window. Seneca was brushing dirt off his shirt. He looked disgusted as he climbed into Venia's car. Moments later, they sped out of the driveway.

Father entered the house, holding mother upright. He shot me a look of disgust. Mother sobbed and climbed the steps to the upper level. Father remained in the parlor, seemingly as a loss for words.

"What did you do to Seneca?" I spoke softly.

"I thought he may have abducted you. We did not hear from you for days. What were you doing? I heard from a friend that you were spotted in a bar. Intoxicated, nonetheless. What is your problem?" he exploded, fury radiating from his blood-red face.

I sheepishly turned away.

"I am very sorry. It has been a painful few days. I am not denying any accusations. Right now, we need to focus on Alfie's whereabouts," I tried to reason with him.

"Wrong. Alfie is old enough to make his own decisions, no matter how foolish they are. You, however, are not. You are much too young to be running around with dangerous men and careless fools. Seneca Crane may have had charm, but how do you know his intentions are good?" father snapped.

"I know because he cares for me more than you!" I screamed, losing my temper.

That struck a chord. Between both of us, irreparable damage had been inflicted. My anger grew. _How dare you contemplate my problems when your son is missing. _Father seemed to shoot daggers at me. He paced the room slowly, contemplating how to respond to my outburst.

"I think it would be better if you avoided Seneca Crane for a while. There is something wrong with you. In the past month alone, you have initiated multiple fights with classmates, stolen items from your family, snuck out of the house, and disappeared for days. Not to mention your display of public intoxication. You have failed to maintain the proper etiquette that your family expects of you. I am very disappointed."

I was at a loss for words. Not only had he found out about my trip to the bar, he knew that Alfie and I had snuck out. Worse, he chose this moment to play that card against me.

"So what are you going to do with me? Ground me? Forbid me from seeing Seneca?" I bitterly spat back.

"No. Any of those things would prolong you and cause you to act in a rebellious way. You have already demonstrated that you are not capable of making good decisions. You need help. For your actions and to benefit your declining mental health, I am having you incarcerated in a mental help facility. The best money can buy, of course."

My eyes widened in awe. My mind raged with infuriation. _This is how you deal with a missing son? You send me away too. _I was appalled, enraged, horror-struck even. I stood promptly on my feet and crossed to father. I straightened up to his level, so that I could look him directly in the eyes. Then, I struck him across the face.

He received the blow unwaveringly. He did not stagger, fall, or even move. He simply shut his eyes momentarily.

"This only further justifies my case. You need help. You are leaving tomorrow. That is my final word on the matter. You may call Seneca tonight and tell him that you will not be seeing him for quite some time," father left the room.

I stood there dumbfounded. My anger cascaded toward mother. She has left, clocked out the way Alfie did. Alfie's intentions became clear. My parents were lunatics and he had seen them the way they were. He realized that he needed to get out. I realized that I needed to get out. Once and for all.

Quickly, I dashed to phone and punched in Seneca's number.


	27. GoodBye

**Good-bye**

I wait with anticipation as the phone rings. _He may not have made it home yet. That or he is angry with me for father's rash actions. _I impatiently tap my hand against the wall as the phone continues to ring. After the sixth ring, I disappointedly hang up the phone and pace the room. I have never felt so defeated in my life.

Anxiously, I cross back to the phone and redial his number. Again, the call does not go through. _I just do not know what to do. _Panic. Heavy footfalls sound from the ceiling, my parents are undoubtedly returning to the parlor. _They cannot find me. I need to be invisible. _In less than a day, my world has turned upside down. The steps get louder, and I know that I am moments away from a confrontation. _Where to go, where to go._

Instinctively, I flee the parlor. Making a sharp turn, I fling open the door to a hall closet and squeeze into a gap in the bottom. The door has small slits that I use to observe the scene. Seconds later, father comes into the parlor. He silently searches the room.

"She is not down here," he calls up to mother, "Check her room."

"We would have heard her come up," mother answers back almost inaudibly.

Father pushes the couch aside, looking around the room. Valuable trinkets crash to the ground and break. He pays little attention to the decimation of our home, continuing to search with an insistent eye. The phone rings. As if surprised, he pauses. Then he picks up the receiver.

"Hello?" he barks.

I give an involuntary gasp. It has to be Seneca. Of course, he would call me right back. Father's tone changes.

"Where are you?"

Mother calls down the steps, "Is it Effie?"

Father places one hand over the receiver, "No. It is Alfie."

_Alfie! Alfie is calling the house. He must know that we were looking for him. _My surprise just causes more questions. I decide to remain hidden and hear the rest of the conversation.

"What are you doing in 2?" asks father.

I wait with baited breath.

"Well, that is very noble of you son, but do you not believe that your talents would be put to better use here in the Capitol? District 2 has little to offer a person of your status."

An uncomfortable silence followed.

"Look, if you do not come back to the Capitol, I will not associate with you any further. You are an adult. Being an adult, you should make good decisions. Then have it your way. I have no son."

He hung up the phone with a slam. My hand went over my mouth in shock. I knew that father was mad, but never did I believe that he would disown us. Father had always been so fun when we were children. He changed when we won the betting pool, refusing to smile in front of anyone. _The epitome of a miser. _

"Effie!" he yelled throughout the house.

_Oh, right. He is looking for me. To send me away. _Now more than ever, I decided hiding would prove beneficial. Perhaps I could sneak upstairs and talk to mother. Surely, she would not throw a fit. Father perked his head up. He left the house immediately.

I took my chance. I rushed out of the closet, breaking the door in the process. I stomped up the stairs, falling on the second and cutting my knee. With a grimace, I threw open mother's bedroom door and entered. She sat at her vanity, applying a thick slab of make-up to her panicked face.

"Effie!" she gasped.

"Mother, this is getting out of hand. Father just disowned Alfie. Surely, you do not condone his unacceptable behavior," I explain.

Mother takes in my agitation with distress.

"I do not know what to do," she tries to answer; "I care for you and your brother more than anything. But, he is gone. He left and there is nothing that I can do for him in District 2."

"What about me, mother?" I shout in exasperation, "You are going to let father shut me away? He is trying to cast me away, too. If you truly cared for me, you would help."

"Effie, there is something wrong with you. As of late, your behavior has become unpredictable. I am so worried about, darling," she stood up from the vanity.

"Please help me," I began to weep into her hair as she met me in an embrace.

"I wish we could all get out," she whispered quietly.

I did not understand her words. Suddenly, I could hear the front door open. I broke away from the embrace quickly, and headed for the door. I put one hand on the knob and shot mother a farewell glance. She looked hurt, but with a knowledge of understanding.

"I know you will do the right thing. I will always love you."

"Good-bye."

At that moment, I knew. That there was nothing I could do. Desperately, I headed toward my bedroom and grabbed a few key belongings. A picture of my family, my wig, the letter Seneca had sent with the flowers. I left the room quickly and took a small staircase down to the kitchen. Then, I took the back door out of the house.


	28. Safe and Sound

**Safe and Sound**

The wind was bitter outside. It had really picked up in the last few months. I instantly regretted my decision to leave behind my fur coat. Father would not suspect that I left from the back door. Along the street sat a wooden bench. I calmly approached the bench and took a seat.

_Run. You cannot stay here; someone is bound to see you. But, who is the enemy? Am I really the enemy? How did I get into this mess? _Tears of confusion rolled down my cheeks.

"There is something wrong with me," I gently whisper to myself.

Never in my life had I felt the urge to lie, to sneak around, to disobey. Things had always been so easy back then. When I had a brother in the Capitol. When I had a family.

The wind picked up to a violent tempo. The leaves of late autumn hung in the air, capsizing into the street. I shivered. _I need to move. _Dogs parked from beautifully manicured lawns. Tons of Capitol citizens asleep in their warm beds, their lives unchanged.

"Oh, I am so frightened," I whispered involuntarily twenty minutes later.

I had headed south, outside of the City Circle. Perhaps I could live amongst the stragglers who controlled the alleys. Once, Yuffie and I had headed down to buy illegal purses when they were in fashion. I did not know the area well, for I ended up at fourteen dead ends before I found an alley.

The alley was pitch-black. A few men coughed from outside the run-down shops. _Do not go down there. _My senses went alert. I felt danger, but exhilaration too. The few possessions in my hand were concealed under my arm.

"Hey, little girl," someone called from the darkness.

It was a dirty old man. He had a missing front tooth, a hideous attribute. His clothes-a dark grey sweater and torn jeans-showed holes strewn about. He came into a floodlight. I automatically took a few steps back. This was not planned.

"Where you going?" he growled, the glaze of booze covering his dull eyes.

I hunched over a bit and continued down the aisle. The alley became narrower the farther I went. _I am definitely not staying here. Perhaps, I will knock on someone's door and they will offer me shelter. _It was useless. There was not a single house with lights on.

The old man picked up his pace. I could hear strained wheezing as he limped closer. I picked up my feet lightly, cursing myself for wearing heels.

"Come back," he ordered, yelling toward me.

I broke into a run, not caring where I went. At the end of an alley, I found myself between two intersections. I chose the right side of the sidewalk and continued toward the intersection.

"Stop!"

I kept running. Not daring to look behind me, I reached the light post. A car headed down the street toward the intersection.

"Stop. Effie!"

I froze before my feet could touch the street. _He knows my name. _Confusion kept me rooted to the spot. _It did not sound like the old man. It was not a wheeze. It was a handsome voice, something like –_

"Effie, stay where you are," called Seneca.

He was in the car, leaning outside of the passenger window.

"Seneca," I smiled.

Venia slowed the car to a crawl. It neared closer, but stayed away from the intersection. They were at least ten yards away. At that moment, the old man emerged from the alley and came toward me.

"Hang on," he shouted, leaving the car and running toward me.

Panic struck. I wanted to run, but I could not bring myself to disobey Seneca. He reached me at the corner of the sidewalk. He jumped onto a stoop outside of a residence.

"What are you doing?" I hissed quickly, eyeing the old man as he neared in.

"Follow my steps," he held out his hand.

I took it instantly. He pulled me onto the stoop. I landed next to him softly as the old man disappeared from my view.

"We have to go," I urged him forward.

I watched his footsteps and tried my best to copy them. He moved in intricate patterns across the pavement. At one point, he avoided a pink tile by jumping over it. I jumped and my heel missed the landing. I tripped forward and fell onto Seneca's ankle. He, in turn, fell forward. We tumbled into a pavement tree. He touched his mouth, searching for injury.

"Are you alright?" we simultaneously asked the other.

"Where are you, girl?" yelled the old man, spinning around the corner.

"Stay close to me," Seneca growled.

I crawled over to him and let him envelope me. The old man spotted us by the tree. He rushed toward us, gaining speed. Suddenly, the street blew up.

"Oh my goodness!" I shrieked, "What the hell is going on?"

_Did Seneca drop a bomb? Are we under attack? _I looked at Seneca in horror, terrified that we were going to implode.

"It's a pod," he explains, "The streets are rigged with them. They are designed to keep intruders out of the Capitol at night. Only a few are activated, and of those, only a few are ever activated at night. We learned about them in Games school."

"What are you doing here?" I questioned.

"Well, I waited outside your house once you left," he explains, "I wanted to make sure everything was alright. Apparently, something was wrong. There was a lot of yelling and your father ran out about five minutes before you came out the back. We followed you, but got lost after you went into the alley. Lucky I remembered the streets with pods on them."

_No wonder he was not answering the phone. I am so lucky that he is here. Otherwise, I would have been blown to bits._

"But Seneca, my father must be looking for me. I cannot leave with you. Surely, he will be at your house by morning. I imagine that he may even call the authorities," I try to reason with him.

"Why are you running?" he asks, lifting me to my feet.

"Father wants me institutionalized. Mother did not seem to agree, but she cannot do anything for me. Alfie must have realized what was happening and left. I had to run."

"Then I want to protect you," he automatically responded.

"You can't!" I snapped away from him, "Don't you understand? If Father thinks you kidnapped me, there could be serious repercussions. I will not have you imprisoned on my behalf."

"What about us?" he asked quietly, reaching for my fingers.

I could feel my heart break. I needed him so badly. There was nothing more that I wanted to do then to leave with him. We could live together, making our way through. Unfortunately, the odds were not in my favor.

"I do not know, Seneca. It seems we may have to split. At least for now," I spoke quietly, trying not to look at him.

Silence followed. I could almost feel his pain melting, holding him to the street.

"But, I love you."

I bit my lip to keep from crying out.

"I can't go with you Seneca. I love you so."

"Then go with my sister. She will keep you safe and I will keep in touch," he whispered.

I turned to face him.

"Venia would have me?" I asked in surprise.

"Of course. She has grown to like you. We can keep in touch. And one day, we can vanish together. I must protect you. Allow me to protect you, the one way I can."

"Oh, Seneca," I threw myself into his arms.

We embraced with as much passion as we could. I could feel myself breaking down. He walked me over to Venia's car, opening the door wide. He gave me a last kiss and waved a parting gesture to his sister. I looked to him for reassurance and found his caring eyes.

"Do it, Effie. I promise that I will keep you safe and sound."

Venia threw the car into high gear and we drove away, leaving the Capitol, the disabled pod, the dead man, and the love of my life behind.


	29. Your Guardian Angel

**Your Guardian Angel**

I stared in the side mirror as Seneca shrunk and eventually went out of sight. He looked defeated, slumping away at the last moment with his hands in his pocket. _Goodbye, Seneca. I wish you the best._

"You know he really care about you," Venia spoke, never removing her eyes from the road.

"Yes. I hope that he finds no trouble on my behalf. Hopefully, he will be safe," I answered.

Venia looked tired. Under the passing floodlights, her eyes shone with a glimmer of someone who had not slept for hours. Instantly, looking at her made me feel worse. Of course, my antics had not only kept her awake, but they had kept her from spending quality time with her brother.

"I am sorry for any trouble that I am putting you through," I began, "You know that you need not take me in."

"Oh, come on. We both know that Seneca would never forgive me if I let you get away. Besides, you have grown on me," she smiled and touched my hand.

"Thank you. I will do everything to help you out," I offered.

"Right now, try to get some rest. It is quite a long ride to my residence," she stated.

I took her word for it. Falling asleep proved easier than I had originally believed. Within moments, I laid restlessly against the warm upholstery.

Venia shook me awake some time later. It was still pitch black outside, but I could see a beautiful pink house delicately silhouetted by spotlights. The lawn looked inviting with eloquent bushes handsomely trimmed. Venia led the way into the house.

"This is beautiful," I breathed as Venia turned on the light.

"It is modest," she corrected, "I work as an architect. I actually designed this."

She led me around the room briefly, and then led me up the round stairs. I was not used to a home with such few provisions. There was not a flat screen television, no stone fireplace, and I could not spot a statue to save my life. Modest was the new mediocre, obviously.

Venia opened a door that led to a small bedroom. A decent sized bed waited in the middle of the room, a light pink canopy hung down. She handed me a toothbrush, pointed out the bathroom, and told me where to find her if needed.

"I am right down the hall. Holler if you need something," she called as she left.

I inspected the room vigorously. There were a few decent outfits sitting in a bureau, but nothing left me breathless. She did not seem to inherit Seneca's good fortune, but at least I had a place to stay. I picked out a pink outfit that seemed warm and crossed to the bathroom.

My reflection disgusted me. Bits and pieces of debris had settled in my hair from the explosion. My eyes had large bags around them. I washed off all the dirt and ended with something resembling human life.

I went back into my bedroom and sat on the end, looking out the window. I had to dig my nails into my arms to keep from crying out. Everything had gone wrong. Seneca, Alfie, and mother had all been taken from me. The loss was too much to bear.

My face hit the pillow, my screams echoed around the room. I clenched my fists, grabbing the comforter with fury. I felt as caged as an animal. I had never felt this much despair._ Capitol life was easy, simple really. You grew up with relative ease, transformed into a wondrous Capitol citizen, and died with pride. You did not lose your family out of the spite of a father that had clearly lost his mind and driven his loved ones away. _

"Effie?" Venia had returned.

"Oh, Venia. I am sorry for waking you," I rubbed my eyes and faced her.

"May I sit?" she gestured toward the bed.

"Of course," I moved over and let Venia sit.

We sat together in silence. She seemed as if to wait for me to make the first move. However, I had not the faintest clue of what to say or do.

"I just do not understand," I finally broke the ice, "What did I do to deserve this?"

"You did not do anything, Effie. Nothing that happened was your fault," she responded.

"If only that were true. However, my actions were the catalyst in what was to come. I stole that credit card. I never steal things," I explained.

"So you had a weak moment. My guess is that you wanted to impress someone. You felt pressured to fit in, a desire to have a good time. There is nothing wrong with that," she answered back.

I considered her words carefully, but only found more questions.

"Why do I feel so inhuman? Like a monster on a rage, I have completely acted out. I forced my brother into sneaking out of the house with me. I fought a former classmate and have caused harm to innocent people. All of these solely lie on me. I even came to Seneca's house, drunk and dangerous."

"There is nothing inhuman about you," she wrapped an arm around me protectively.

I laid my head on her shoulder, letting both her arms and words comfort me.

"Being human means being venerable. It means that you experience both joy and pain, like those poor children in the Hunger Games. They do not deserve the awful fatality that inevitably awaits them. Why do we slaughter them? The innocent? Because the world is not a fair place. Bad things happen to good people, it does not mean that you did anything wrong. You are human, you have made mistakes, but the whole situation is not your fault."

"I just feel as though I cannot win. There is no way that I can come back from this. What's to become of me? I have no family, no brother, and no lover. What am I to do?" I cried out.

The pain vocalized had a frenzying effect. I convulsed slightly, causing Venia to hold me closer.

"You will work through it. Just like I did. Seneca, too. We worked past our abandonment. Our parents lost interest in us, leaving us alone when Seneca was just a little boy. We worked hard; Seneca had two jobs by fourteen. I helped him through his hard spots and look where he is now. He has made quite a name for himself, even when he thought himself too worthless. It goes to show that a bit of hard work goes a long way."

_Seneca, abandoned? That would explain his lack of family photos. He always seemed so reserved when I would bring the subject up. Venia must have raised him. That would explain his manners, his kindness. _

"You are so brave," I whispered to her, "You did a fine job with Seneca."

"Yes," I could feel her smile, "He has turned into quite a respectable young man. And, he has impressed me further by winning the heart of a beautiful girl. I believe in you, Effie. You have so much potential."

"You think?" I asked.

"I know. And I am determined to help you. I will put you through upper school myself. Then, with the help of Seneca, we can get you into Games school. Together, Effie, we can do it. I will be here for you every step of the way. I will not abandon you."

It was everything I could do not to lose control. I let her words carry me up into a cloud of hope. Venia had previously shown the depths of her kindness, and I did not doubt her now. For a moment, my future, my goals, my dreams, all came within reach.

"Do not worry," she held me tighter, "Think of me as an older sister figure. Think of me as a best friend. Think of me as a sister-in-law. You can always confide in me."

"Thank you so much."

We sat there for hours, looking outside into the moonlight. I soaked up moonbeams, allowing the lunar power to radiate inside me. I fell asleep in Venia's arms. The arms of my guardian angel.


	30. Falling Into Place

**Falling Into Place**

A year later, my life began to take some sort of shape. Venia had studied architectural design after upper school and she began to explain things to me.

"You see, you need a support beam. Otherwise, the whole foundation will collapse," she explained one day.

It seemed to make sense. I began going to work with her. Seneca managed to find some time to stop by and visit us. During the winter season, he actually stayed for a week. What a great vacation that had been for all. I was surprised to find out that both Venia and Seneca had gotten me presents for my birthday.

My parents continued searching for me. Seneca told me of their attempts to question him. He told them that he knew nothing of my disappearance. After hearing of their attempts, I felt a momentary pang of guilt. However, I was finally living life the way I wanted.

The last few weeks of upper school were among us. I had been studying extra hard with hopes of getting good marks. Seneca had called and told me that he had sent in an application to Games school with my name on it. Once I turned eighteen, I could safely return to the City Circle.

"So what do you think about a graduation party?" Venia asked one night.

"Just something small. Seneca, you, and I. The usual," I replied while working on a bit of homework.

"Sounds good," she agreed, "It will finally give me an excuse to try out that new dish I have been working on."

Come finals week, I had studied like a maniac. I thought that there was no possible way that I could be any more prepared. I went in confident. After three hours of rigorous paperwork, I had successfully completed my finals. We were told to report on Saturday for graduation. On the morning before graduation, Seneca came over.

"Seneca!" I squealed as he pulled into the driveway.

"Why hello," he said with his usual verve, "Or should I say congratulations?"

"Say whatever you would like," I threw myself into his arms.

He carried me into Venia's house and greeted her. We spent the day shopping for banners and other party favors. When we got home, Venia dismissed us from the house so she could begin the chore of cooking. Seneca suggested we go on a walk down to lake. I agreed with a smile.

"I am so proud of you," he spoke as we walked.

We were holding hands, the warm sun radiating off our features. I chanced a glance over at him and took him in. He had dressed simply, a reasonable cardigan and fashionable slacks. His hair hung over his eyes, providing a sort of shade. A hint of stubble played on his chin.

"Thank you," I replied, "I have been working so hard for this. I cannot believe it is almost over."

"You know, we have the whole summer to be together before Games school. Then, we have Games school. We will be seeing a lot of each other," he said carefully.

"If I get in," I reminded him, "I still have not received a letter."

"Come on, you are a sure in. You will love it," he answered, leading me down a path.

"As long as you will be there," I answered.

We reached a small swing set. He gestured for me to sit. I gently took the chains with my hands and sat down. He moved behind me and placed a hand on the small of my back.

"Hold on tight," he whispered in my ear.

He gave me a push. I rose in the air. From my vantage point, the lake seemed to grow. The crystal clear blue water looked so inviting. The breeze was comforting too. _This is so peaceful and perfect. _I came back down, and Seneca pushed harder. Again, I rose to the world's splendors.

We swung for a few minutes, and then continued to the lake. Once reaching the lake, I got an idea.

"Let's go swimming," I suggested.

"We haven't a swimming outfit," he said.

"So improvise," I gave him a soft wink.

There was no one else on the lake's shores. I needed to feel that crystal water on me. Slowly, I turned to Seneca and began to remove his shirt. He looked mildly embarrassed, but allowed me to remove it. We undressed each other and he took my hand. Then we walked into the lake.

"This is beautiful," I gasped as the water met my feet.

"Lovely," he agreed.

We waded farther in. As the water reached our waist, we let out involuntary gasps. It was not cold, yet it was not warm. It was perfect. I swam away from him, letting my body encompass the whole of the lake. The water was clear, a healthy sign. Seneca showed off, completing a graceful dolphin-like tactic.

I watched him with love in my eyes. He had been on my mind lately, something that frequently happened before his arrivals. When he was with me, small trivial things mattered. When he was with me, everything mattered much more. Often, I wondered about his doings in the City Circle. His life there, his friends, his faithfulness. I never questioned his loyalty though.

"Are you frozen?" he joked, splashing me with water.

"No!" I gasped with surprise.

I tried to splash him back, but I was unsuccessful. He moved under me and caught me in his arms. He looked so good. We embraced in the water, feeling rejuvenated by the freshness.

"You know I have missed you," I spoke softly to him.

"As have I," he responded, looking into my eyes.

"Things have been so easy since moving in with Venia. She has been teaching me architectural design, you know," I told him.

"I have heard. She has relayed that in the event Games school declines you, you should come to work with her," he led us out of the lake.

"Really?" I asked with genuine surprise.

"Of course. She says you have become somewhat of an expert on the subject," he answered seriously.

"Oh, you are jesting," I dismissed him.

He set me down on the shore. We redressed quickly and lay hand in hand.

"Would you like that? Living with Venia and becoming an architect?" he asked quietly.

"Maybe," I thought about it, "Or, I would like to go to Games school with you."

"I would like that very much," he replied.

We laid on the shore, listening to the quiet tones of the lake. Frogs were beginning to sound as the day grew on. At one point, another couple came down to the lake and fancied a swim. I may have fallen asleep at some point. When nightfall approached, Seneca took my hand and we walked back to Venia's house.

The first thing we noticed was her car. Or lack thereof.

"Where did Venia go?" I asked Seneca.

"Beats me," he responded, "She probably went out for some last minute surprise."

I led the way into the house and checked around for a note. Sure enough, a note lay on the kitchen counter. It read:

'Effie, I will be back soon. I needed one last minute thing. Please remove the tarts from the oven. Thank you.'

I removed the tarts from the oven and offered Seneca food. He declined politely, and we decided to continue our festivities upstairs. I led him into my bedroom where he began to set up for the next few days. Every time he came over, he slept in my room.

"You know, we are alone," I told him suggestively.

"Oh?" he responded feigning ignorance, "What does that entail?"

"I just want to get to know you a little better," I responded, moving onto the bed and removing my shoes.

"Ah, I see," he removed his shoes and climbed onto the bed, "And what would you like to know?"

"Anything you are willing to teach me," I whispered.

We kissed heavily, removed clothing, and got under the covers. I lay back against the pillows, allowing him to move forward. I felt all the passion and tension come in time. Through the day, my desire had built. The moment came and took us over.

"Right now?" he whispered, moving on top of me.

"Yes," I managed to get out.

Suddenly, we heard the front door open. We paused with embarrassment, choosing not to continue while others were around. He apologized quietly and moved back. I felt pangs of want pulling me back.

"Come back," I whimpered, feeling unsatisfied.

"Later," he promised and threw me my clothes.

We dressed quickly and hurried downstairs to meet Venia. We could hear her talking in the kitchen.

"She will be so excited!" she kept saying.

_She must be on the phone with someone. _I decided to surprise her by jumping out from behind a pillar in the kitchen. Just as I sprang, I met my own surprise.

Alfie stood in the kitchen.


	31. Forget Me Not

**Forget Me Not**

_What are you doing here? Is it really you? _

"Hi," he stood awkwardly and seemed to wave.

"Oh my," my hand covered my mouth in surprise.

We stood silently for a moment, taking in the delicate sight of the other. I felt tears pool in my eyes. Venia shared my admiration too, for tears were flowing down her cheeks. I threw myself at Alfie, allowing him to catch me while off guard.

"What are you doing here?" I breathed quietly.

"Someone in your family should see you graduate," he whispered back.

Suddenly, it seemed as if he had never left. I realized how much I missed him. Images of a childhood shared rushed back, flooding every pore of my consciousness. He held strong, allowing me back into his life. We stood there for minutes. Finally, we broke apart.

"I cannot believe you," I began.

_Anger or wonder? _I still was not sure. Half of me wanted to embrace him. Half of me wanted to pull his ear and scream. In the end, I decided to hug him.

"I am sorry, Effie" he said after a few minutes.

"Yes, well. You are here now. Come meet the others," I suggested, signaling the Cranes.

"You are a little late. We are well acquainted," replied Alfie, "Seneca, you look good. I must thank you for taking care of my sister."

"Oh, thank Venia. Obviously, she was the one who arranged this meeting," nodded Seneca.

"Yes, Venia contacted me and asked if I would be so kind as to attend your graduation party," Alfie told me.

"You did?" I asked Venia.

She nodded with her tears continuing to run. I embraced her gently and passed on feelings of appreciation.

"It is good of you to come, Alfie," said Seneca with a smile.

They shook hands. _And I thought the day could not get any better. _The two most important men were standing together in front of me. I could not be happier. I wanted to live in this moment forever. Venia directed Alfie to the guest bedroom. Seneca and I stood alone in the kitchen, smiling with glee.

"Did you know about this?" I asked Seneca with curiosity.

"In fact, I did," he replied, "But I will not go into the depth of my involvement. I will not have you mad at me."

"How could I ever be mad at you?" I kissed him lightly.

Venia and Alfie returned. We decided to enjoy a pleasant dinner provided by Seneca's delicate hand. Venia offered help and Seneca accepted leaving Alfie and I alone. We sat across from one another at the lavish dinner table.

"How did you know to come?" I asked.

"Well as you know, I left around a year ago," he began, "And I travelled to District 2. I found a job as stone grinder. District life is so different from Capitol life. And the Hunger Games do not get me started."

"But why did you go?" I interrupted.

"Please allow me to finish," he paused, "One day; I was called away from the job. Someone important from the Capitol had come to see me. I thought it would be father, you know, as if he wanted to see his son and apologize. But, no. It was Seneca."

"Seneca!" I interjected.

"Yes?" called Seneca from the kitchen, obviously unaware of my discussion.

"Yes. He had come all the way to District 2. He told me that you had been trying to locate me. At my request, I prevented him from telling you that he had found me. Well, he visited often and updated me with your doings. About a month ago, Venia gave Seneca an invitation to pass onto me. She told me to come to your graduation party. So here I am."

"Why on earth would you forbid Seneca from telling me about contacting you?" I asked, "Did you not want to talk to me?"

"No, no. It is nothing like that. I needed to be sure that mother and father had no idea where I am. I have since been informed that everyone discovered my whereabouts. I wanted to tell you, but I thought it would be easier if you forgot about me."

"I could never forget about you. You are my brother!" I almost shouted.

"I will always love you. I wanted the best for you," he told me quietly.

He signaled Venia in the dining room. She brought out some greens broiled into a stew. Seneca's careful hand had prepared a fine dish. I decided that my questions would have to wait. Alfie tucked in and accepted a bowl of stew. We dined with casual pleasantness.

"Are you excited for graduation?" asked Seneca.

"Oh yes," I answered, "I have been working hard as of late."

"She did just splendidly on her finals," Venia told Alfie, "Near perfect marks."

"Oh, hush," I taunted Venia, "Trivial details."

"Speaking of which," Venia suddenly gasped, "Your letter came! With all the excitement from Alfie's presentation, I forgot to mention it."

"The Games school letter?" I screeched jumping up, "Where is it?"

"It is in the hallway," she answered, "But surely you will wait until after din-…"

I left midsentence. In the hallway lay a thick envelope with the Capitol insignia. Grabbing the middle, I tore open the top and dropped the envelope. My letter read as such:

Miss Trinket,

We are pleased to grant you accepted to the Official School of the Hunger Games. Please report for initiation on Monday, September 2. Congratulations on your behalf.

I let out a blood-curdling scream. In an instant, Seneca was by my side.

"What happened?" he sounded panicked.

"I got in!" I yelled to the household, "I have been accepted to Games school. We are going to be classmates."

Seneca beamed with pride as he realized my scream was not one of death. He held his arms out for an embrace. I leaped onto him, kissing him violently. The day was absolutely perfect. We returned to the dining room and pardoned my horrid manners.

We continued dinner, talking about the Games school. Further rounds of congratulations were administered. To conclude, a toast was set.

At the conclusion, Seneca washed the dishes and Venia dried them. Alfie and I retired to the parlor for tea. The fire was lit, radiating sharp warmth.

"So you have to tell me. Why did you leave?" I asked quietly.

"Look, I could give you many answers, but I will something simply and honest. For the same reason you did," was all he could say.

"Are you going back?" I almost feared the answer.

"Yes. I have to. I have a wonderful life in 2. I have met a lovely girl. There are no painful memories, no neglect. Even the starvation is bearable," he responded.

I tried to imagine life in District 2. Limited food, no colors, and the threat of the Hunger Games. However, I began to see a more humble view. A tight community. Togetherness.

"Can I visit you? In District 2?" I asked after a couple of minutes.

He looked at me.

"Would you want to? I would love you to come. You can meet my girl. Who knows? Maybe you will give up Capitol life and join me," he smiled.

"Well, I do not know about all that. It might make for an interesting vacation. Who knows?" I repeated.

"You know, I am just happy to see you. I missed you so much," he whispered, warming his hands by the fire.

Venia came into the parlor and bid us goodnight. Seneca followed, winking at me. I knew he would wait up for me. Alfie and I exchanged more words of love, life, and admiration.

"Please do not hate me for leaving," he stood up, "I had a weak moment. But, I want you to know that I never forgot you. Seneca gave me updates. And here I am, all for you. I love you."

"I love you too," I answered, "I never forgot you either. I could not hate you if I tried. You are all that I have ever wanted in a brother. I am so pleased that you are here."

We bid each other goodnight, and I walked upstairs to my room. Seneca lay on my bed, wrapped up in the blankets. I crawled in next to him and laid my head on his chest. He shook slightly and allowed me in.

"You went to 2?" I asked him quietly.

He nodded.

"Thank you," I whispered to him.


	32. Graduation

**Graduation**

We woke up late the next day.

"Hurry, hurry, hurry!" I shouted, leaping off the bed, "Up, up, up, it's going to be a big, big, big day."

Seneca rolled over in a groggy fashion, mumbling complaints. He sat on the end of the bed and rubbed his eyes. Venia was out of bed, dancing around the house. Alfie stood in the powder room, fixing a bowtie. I had left my dress out the night before.

"Do you need any help, dear?" asked Seneca.

"No, no, no. Just get dressed," I snapped in response.

I hastily kicked him out of my bedroom, apologizing as he went. I needed the whole room for preparation. After a quick shower, I slipped into my beautiful silver dress. It was long, silky, and hung off my curves in a seductive fashion. Venia knocked and entered, offering help with my wig. I accepted and the room began to smell like hairspray.

After an hour of make-up, heel adjusting, and perfume sniffing, we exited my bedroom. Seneca and Alfie waited downstairs in the living room, both handsomely dressed in suits. The boys nodded approvingly at our ensembles.

"Come, I have taken the liberty of warming up the car," Seneca gestured toward the door.

"It is May! We do not need the car warmed up," I reminded him, slightly annoyed.

When I went outside, however, I saw what he had been doing with the car. It sported large pink tassels, which hung off the mirror. A banner that read 'Congratulations' stood up. My mouth opened in wonder and Seneca laughed gently. Our party got into the decked out ride and left for the ceremony.

I left them once we arrived, taking my designated place in line. The dean of upper school called out names proudly, most of which I did not know. I had only been a part of this community for the better part of two years.

My mind began to wander as I waited in line. _Where were my parents? Did parents not live to see their children graduate? _Part of me envied Alfie for having mother and father attend his graduation. Or did they? I could not remember.

"Effie Trinket."

My mind snapped back to the present and I ascended. The dean held out the diploma, offering a hand to shake. I gripped it earnestly and walked across the stage. My heart soared. The announcer continued with my plans to attend Games school, which received bouts of applause from the audience. Upon my descent, I met the eyes of my family and smiled.

"I am so proud of you," said Alfie as we met after the ceremony.

"Well done," smiled Seneca.

"I knew you could do it!" mustered up Venia.

"What now?" I asked the trio.

Everyone seemed to look to me for an answer.

Alfie relieved the tension, "You have just graduated from school. What are you going to do with your life?"

"I do not know," I felt pressured.

He held his hand out in front of me, simulating a microphone.

"We are going out for drinks!" I insisted.

Everyone laughed and agreed on the idea. We got into Venia's car and suggested different locations.

"There is a simple place in the City Circle," suggested Seneca.

"Yes. I like that," I agreed, leaning onto Seneca in the backseat.

"Alright. To the City Circle," said Venia.

We drove and passed excited chatters. Alfie was discussing the agriculture of District 2, when Venia came to a stop. I looked out the window. We were not in the City Circle. We were in front of the Training Center.

"What are we doing here?" I asked.

"I just wanted to show you around, seeing as it will be your new home," replied Seneca.

He opened the backdoor and got out. I followed him with a confused glance.

"We will meet up with you," he instructed to Venia.

She nodded and drove off with Alfie.

"I think she has quite a thing for him," Seneca nodded toward the car.

He led me up the marvelous steps outside the Training Center.

"I thought only the District tributes came here," I questioned, glancing the prestigious building.

"The whole university learns here as well. Each floor contains parts of a classroom. When the Hunger Games are not in session, Games school takes place. During the Hunger Games, the students go on internships," he explained.

"Internships?" I asked incredulous.

"Yes. Those who are studying Gamemaking sit in with the Gamemakers. Those looking to become stylists intern as the prep teams. Those looking to be escorts," he started.

"Do what?" I asked.

"Organize and schedule the tributes time in the Capitol. On some cases, the Games escorts take them to the Reaping," he said.

"They actually go to the Reaping?" I had never seen someone who was not an official there.

"It's all underground, of course," he reminded me.

We had reached the front of the Training Center. He gestured toward the inside, holding open the door. I started to go, and then stopped.

"Seneca. As lovely a gesture as this is, I would like it to be a surprise. I want to spend the rest of the day with you and our siblings. Please, let's go back and find them."

He looked upset for a moment, then nodded. We walked back down the steps in the direction of the City Circle. Along the way, I questioned him about his current doings. At a lovely establishment, I spotted Venia's car. The restaurant in question was top notch.

Hand in hand, we walked into the building. I spotted Alfie sitting across from Venia at a table. Seneca and I hustled over to them. There sat six chairs, two occupied. Venia offered two chairs to us. I sat across from the men, folding my napkin over my lap. Apparently, we were eating, too.

"So, who are these two other chairs for?" I asked.

"Here they are now," answered Venia pointing.

Mother and father walked into the restaurant.


	33. Confrontation

**Confrontation**

I was horror-struck. Thoughts blazed through my mind like wildfire. _I am over eighteen, so legally they have nothing on me. Perchance they will not see us. If they do, will they cause a scene. Should I leave? _Time ran out. There they stood, leering over our table with shadows of grins spread across their faces.

"Hello," mother cautioned with a hesitant tone.

"Hello Mr. and Mrs. Trinket," crooned Venia, offering the chairs.

"Welcome," Seneca added hesitantly.

Alfie and I contributed nothing. Likewise, father sat awkwardly not chancing a glance our way. Venia noted the hiatus in dialogue and broke the ice.

"So, we are all here for Effie. Today, she has graduated from upper school."

"Congratulations, darling," blasted mother with an eagerness to get her words out.

"Thanks," I responded sheepishly.

Everyone looked at father, expecting him to add something. Mother had to give him a jab.

"Well done," he growled inaudibly.

Mother beamed falsely at the pair of us. Alfie gave me a questioning glance as if to question her existence. Something seemed off about her. A more careful glance showed her to be balding. She had inadvertently tried to cover up the recession by drawing on fake hair. Her skin sagged in unusual places, making her look grotesque.

"I always knew you could do it," mother crooned with wide eyes.

We ordered food quickly, my choice being the lamb stew. Alfie and Seneca ordered simple plates, Venia only a drink. Mother, however, had her pick of the menu. She requested the most expensive plate with no dietary restrictions. Father ordered nothing.

"So," I ventured, "How are things going?"

I directed the question to father with the hopes of breaking his solitude. Something about his eeriness set me on guard. Mother took the opportunity to interject her thoughts.

"Things have been rough, of course. With all the questions and the lack of suitable answers. The investigation."

At this, she directed her head toward Seneca.

"Right," he added.

"Long story short, we have been in a terrible predicament. It was horrible for you two to leave the way you did," she added, "Horrid manners, really."

My mouth hung open in surprise. Alfie hit my leg under the table, signaling me to shut my mouth. Mother looked disturbed. Father continued to sit motionless.

"Excuse me?" I choked out, dabbing at my mouth with a napkin.

"I am sorry, dear. You both took off like baby birds learning to fly. Your father and I have been so worried. And Alfie, dear," at this she turned to him, "You may be a father now, too. You would not want your young taking off now would you?"

Alfie joined me with open-mouthed horror. _Who does she think she is? _I stood up offended. I dashed away from the table, Alfie in tow.

"What the hell is going on?" he growled, "What gives?"

"I cannot believe the nerve. The woman just barges in, condemning us to a life of hell on a misunderstanding. I ought to cast her away."

"No, do not cause a row here. You know how the old woman gets. She was never really motherly after all," he added defensively.

"How can you say that? She has never been like this. A ludicrous example of human scum that's what she is," I snorted.

"We must be distressing her with our rude manners. Let us try not to make things worse. Maybe, she will lighten up over dinner."

She did not lighten up over dinner. Contrary, she became worse, sending passive-aggressive messages across the table. Her slanders and accusations began to worry the rest of our party. Seneca tensed at her accusation of kidnapping. Venia cringed at the mention of molestation. Alfie and I tried our hardest not to leap across the table and strangle her.

"Surely, you can recall the time beastly Effie assaulted me for my purse. She clawed and grabbed at me, snagging my purse and breaking my fingers in the process," mother cried out.

Many other patrons of the establishment found entertainment in our table. My party of four sat stunned, accepting every insult strewn our way, gaining unfavorable glances in the process. Father sat unmoving the whole time.

"We must be going, other plans you see," she sneered toward us.

She rose from the table posthaste and dragged father up. I glowed with anger. My hand shook under the table, grasping the dinner fork I concealed.

"So that's it then?" I barked.

Mother stopped, her long sought confrontation finally occurring.

"Was there something you wanted to say, dear?" she boasted, calling all attention to us.

"Why, yes. How rude of you, mother, to accept an invitation on my behalf and display no sign of apology or of pride. How dare you condemn both your only children in spite and grief. How could you, father, just sit here and watch the children you cast away?"

"Effie, stop," Seneca whispered to me.

"No," I brushed him away, "I cannot believe you. And you have the audacity to call us your kin?"

"Effie," Seneca grabbed my elbow.

"Get off," I pushed him off, annoyed at his interruption.

"Effie!" he spun me around toward him, breathless with anger, "They have been hijacked."


	34. Unsung

**Unsung**

After an unplanned silence, the words registered. _My parents have been hijacked. They are not acting normally. _Seneca rubbed his fingers in anticipation, hoping that I understood his explaining. I examined the eyes of my dearly related. Noticing differences was the key.

Mother had bright blue eyes that Alfie had inherited. They seemed to shimmer with the lights of the restaurant. A closer look showed an eerie ripple of something-something dark. I took a step back in wonderment.

Of course, hijacking was the process of diluted someone's memories by injecting them with potent tracker jacker venom. I wondered why their eyes had not stood out before.

"What is the meaning of all this?" Alfie called out from behind me.

"I do not know," replied Seneca, "However, I am starting to feel weird about this place."

I felt odd, too. It was that familiar but dreaded sensation of someone watching you. Venia stood up and threw money onto the table. Seneca grabbed my arm and led me out of the restaurant. Alfie followed with Venia in hand.

"Should we grab my parents?" I asked in bewilderment.

"No," Seneca growled, "There is nothing we can do for them right now."

He lifted me up into the front seat, blocking my view from the entrance. I felt panicked. _What is going on? How does Seneca know about the hijacking? Who hijacked them? _Venia got into the driver's seat and left the parking lot. The general consensus was to travel to my former home to look for clues. However, upon our arrival, we discovered a new piece of the puzzle.

Our house was destroyed. The front door lay beaten and unhinged, leaning against the charred remnants of the edifice. Alfie and I hopped out, confused and incredulous. We sped up to the front door, recognizing bits of a past life. In the middle of the floor lay a single piece of paper.

"That looks like the kind of paper that father carried around," stated Alfie.

Our father, in the former days, was an avid participant on the Hunger Games voluntary committee. Once a week, he would travel to the President's mansion and discuss the fanfare of the Games. It was like a big convention of sorts. He had stopped going a few months before Alfie's disappearance.

I raced over and seized the sheet. It seemed torn, yet readable.

_This proposal contains the argument that henceforth agrees upon the abolishment of the recreation known as the Hunger Games. _

"Alfie, come here," I whisked him over and showed him the piece.

It was definitely our father's handwriting. Alfie read the paper aloud, and then repeated it. Seneca and Venia rushed over at our finding, examining the sheet for themselves.

"What happened here?" Alfie spat angrily.

"It looks as if your house was ransacked," Venia stated.

"I know that," Alfie snarled, "What I do not know is who has ransacked us, for what purpose, and where they are now."

"Is anything missing?" Seneca digressed.

We split up, Seneca coming with me. I climbed the steps, avoiding a large hole. The upstairs looked disastrous with papers strewn all down the hallway. The room to my father's study had been bashed in, a large hole cracked in the middle. I paused at the door to my bedroom and ushered Seneca toward the study.

He rushed away, and I opened the door. Inside, everything seemed intact. The nightstand next to my bed had been rifled through however nothing was missing. My dresser also had been attacked. Clothes, expensive clothes, lined the floor.

"The study is an absolute mess," Seneca reported back, "What is the deal in here?"

"Just some drawers opened," I answered.

We continued to search the top floor. Nothing looked tampered with. Our parent's dresser had been obliterated. The bathroom cabinet was smashed and cracked. At one point, wallpaper slumped off the walls.

"How long has the house been like this?" Seneca asked, "Have your parents been living in this rubble?"

"This is absolutely horrid," I shouted out.

"Maybe the others discovered something," Seneca suggested.

He led the way back downstairs. A charred chandelier dropped bits of mirror shards as we passed. I noticed that cabinets had been thrown off the walls. The parlor television was cracked. Venia and Alfie ran about the dining room, searching amongst the knives and forks lying around.

"Did you find anything?" Alfie ushered as we entered.

"Nothing. Any idea why all the drawers are opened?" I continued.

"Well, that must mean that the perpetrators are not robbers. I mean, in the conventional sense. It is not prized possessions that they have stolen," Seneca added.

"Yes, I think they were after papers. Something of my father's. An essay, of sorts. They must have found it, because they are not here," I concluded.

"What essay?" asked Venia.

"Something for his Hunger Games club beats me," answered Alfie.

"Why don't we ask a neighbor?" Seneca proposed.

"Good idea," we agreed.

Our pack traveled outside the house. It had become quite dark since our discovery. The neighbors on our right had their lights on. Alfie hurried to their door and rang the bell. After a moment, a woman answered the door.

"Oh, you're the Trinket children," she squealed upon entry.

"Yes," Alfie responded, "Can you tell us what happened here?"

"Goodness, you do not know? It was all over the news today," she answered surprised, "You both have been classified as missing."

"We have been missing for ages!" I snapped, angry at the incompetence.

"And you have only now returned?" she again showed her surprise.

"Yes," I growled, "Now, would you mind telling me what happened?"

"Goodness, me. Some men, real official types from the President's manor, headed in. They knocked the door in when your mother refused them entry. They shouted horrible things at her, pounding on the door with an awful truncheon. Eventually, the door gave way. They were dragged out, your mother and father, and placed into a squad hovercraft. Funny, your mother was the only one struggling."

Alfie and I absorbed this was open-mouthed horror. She continued:

"Your father just lay there, allowing the President's men to carry him off. All the neighbors were out and alerted. Half the men left with your parents. The others searched the house for I do not know what. They were in there for twenty minutes at least. We were told that it was for drug crimes. You poor dears."

"That is in no way true," Seneca defended, prepared to catch me if I fell backward.

I felt nauseated. My parents had been captured from the President's men. _It must have had something to do with that paper. They must be viewed as enemies against the Capitol. The men must have thought mother knew something. They were captured and hijacked. _The situation made more sense.

Alfie, Seneca, and Venia seemed to reach their own conclusions. The neighbor woman must have thought that we were either involved or that we escaped. Perhaps the latter, for she was not trying the seize us.

"You said that we were considered missing?" Alfie reminded her.

"Yes, dear. The men addressed the group and told us that you both were needed. No one knew where you were to be located. Someone suggested that you had run away from neglect. They told us to report to them if you were located," she responded bewildered.

Alfie and I looked at each other. Common fugitives we were. Eyes appeared around the neighborhood, both fictitious and literal. I got the feeling of uncertainty again. We dashed away from her house into Venia's car. She yelled some confused directions at us as we went.

"Hurry, get in," Venia instructed.

I leapt forward into the back seat. Alfie followed and Venia drove off.

"Go!" he shouted, "The President's men could be here any second."

I managed to look out the window. The street was lit with lamps, glowing in odd places. Seneca instructed Venia on the location of pods. He suggested that we take a safer direction. I kept a diligent eye out for any unmarked cars. We raced away from the City Circle, a car full of enemies against the Capitol.


	35. Sleuthing Around

**Sleuthing Around**

An hour later, Venia pulled into her driveway. The festivities were still set up, congratulating me on something that seemed to occur years ago. Hurriedly, we moved into the house, and Venia left to put some tea on the stove.

"So what exactly do we know?" Alfie stammered.

He sat across from me, fiddling with his hands in an absurd manner. Seneca leaned by the fireplace, controlling the flames at his will.

"Mother and father were hijacked," I pointed out.

"But what exactly is hijacking?" Alfie relayed with exasperation.

"Hijacking is a process that controls human memories," Seneca explained, "Doctors sometime use it to help erase horrible memories. At least that is what I have been told."

"That does not help. I need specifics," Alfie instructed to Seneca.

"Look, no one except those who specialize in hijacking know all the details. I understand that you are upset. Do not lose your head," Seneca responded harshly.

"Can you tell me any additional details, if you know them," Alfie tried again.

"That's better. Hijacking takes time. Tracker Jackers, a creation of the Capitol, produce a vital substance that has the ability to distort vision and memory. When one becomes inflicted, the concept of reality loses legitimacy. False memories may be implanted with aid of longetivity and intensity of exposure. So, in other words, the longer one is under the influence of Tracker Jacker venom, the more potent the false memories become."

"Do you believe that the President himself ordered the hijacking?" I asked in a hushed tone.

I know that my reasoning was bizarre, but I believed the President could hear anything that was said inside the Capitol limits. Seneca seemed to sense this, lowering his voice to a dull whisper.

"Something strange is going on. First, your parents show up hijacked at your celebration, acting rude and not like themselves. Second, your house shows obvious signs of infiltration and the drawers rifled through. Third, the neighbors suspect some big scandal, to which they are told of a drug investigation. Sub sequentially, you both are reported as missing. My guess is that all the events have something to do with that essay your father wrote."

"The essay about abolishing the Hunger Games," I clarified.

Venia returned with hot cups of tea and promptly distributed them. She sat next to me in a plush armchair, crossing one leg over the other.

"This does not make sense. Father was always such an avid supporter of the Hunger Games," Alfie reminded us.

"Up until the time you ran away," I added, "Once you left, he just became meaner. That is why I left."

"Do you suppose that your father was hijacked previous to Alfie's disappearance?" Seneca suggested.

"That is what I was thinking," Alfie agreed.

I thought back to father's strange behavior. Granted that I had been so involved in my endeavors that I paid him little attention, his behavior did seem odd. Normally, he went about preparing for the Games in a festive fashion. That year, however, he just seemed grouchy. Mother's final words resonated in my head. She had suspected something, I concluded, but she was too scared to say anything. Those men must have broken in to hijack her as well. They must have thought she knew additional information.

"What if he was under observation?" Alfie suggested, "Like our whole house was being monitored. After Effie and I left, the President's men must have decided to attack."

"Then why did they let us go?" I asked.

"I do not know," he looked away in thought, "Perhaps, they thought we would not know anything."

"Or maybe they hoped that you would lead them to something big," Seneca suggested.

This sent chills up my spine. The thought of my life being monitored by people scared me. This must be how the tributes feel during the Hunger Games. Something still seemed weird. I realized that they let father run around, hijacked and odd. But why?

"Why do you suppose they let father come home hijacked?" I brought up.

"That is obvious, is it not?" Alfie said, "They wanted to see if we would notice. They wanted to see what else he knew. They did not want to alert us of their misdoings. And we fell for their act like simpletons."

"So you both lived in the house with him while he was hijacked?" Venia sought confirmation.

"I left soon after he started acting odd," Alfie realized, "Effie must have left a little after me."

"Why now?" I asked, "Why today of all days? They chose to hijack mother today, not after we left. Something is still amiss."

"Perhaps, they discovered your father's essay today. He must have brought it out to look at," Venia concluded.

"No. Not father. Mother!" I realized.

"She must have discovered it while looking for something. Perhaps jewelry to wear to the celebration. The President's men must have watched her discover the essay. Then, they must have rushed in and spread the drug story around," Seneca continued.

"Then, the men must have discovered the celebration, performed quick hijacking, and sent them to the restaurant to meet us. Your mother was behaving normally at certain points. Your father has most likely had more exposure, explaining his lethargy," Venia concluded.

"So what? They have been reconditioned to hate us?" asked Alfie.

"It appears so. Maybe to divert your attention away from their obvious problem. Or, maybe to try to persuade you to leave. What if they had a trap waiting for you?" Venia brought up.

"So we are wanted?" I figured out, "They must think that we all knew something about father's essay. It must have been quite powerful to cause the entire cabinet to ambush us."

"Too bad it did not work," Alfie replied, "Good thing Seneca suspected hijacking. How did you know about that, by the way?"

We all turned toward Seneca. He looked cautiously between all of us. I had never seen him so shaky before.

"Just believe me when I say that I have seen it before," was all he could say, "We are exposed to the venom in Games school."

"Well, we have the general gist of these happenings," I digressed, "The question now is what are we going to do?"

"It is obvious, is it not?" Venia concluded, "We are going to run."


	36. The True Meaning Of Family

**The True Meaning Of Family**

"Hold on," snapped Alfie, "I grow tired of running. I mean, they cannot just hijack us if we go to the mansion. They need probable cause, do they not?"

"That is true," noted Seneca, "Perhaps; the President can clear some things up for us."

"Wait. They are going to great length to find out information. Who is to say that they will not attack upon sight?" Venia spurted out.

I felt so confused. Nausea, depression, and dread filled my inner thoughts. _Clearly, someone has been wronged. Would the President order us captured upon arrival? Should we talk to him?_

"I am starting to think that I do not want to attend Games school," I announced.

The more this treachery continued on, the more I began to see clearly. The Hunger Games, our most valued source of entertainment, resulted in death and destruction. The death of my old family, the destruction of my home.

"Come on, Effie. You know that is dangerous thinking. Especially now, when the President is hounding us for information," Alfie reasoned.

"I just…it feels so wrong. The Hunger Games were something father and I bonded over. I need to know-what caused him to change his opinion? Something that concrete could not have been changed overnight. He must have discovered something," I stammered.

"I understand," Seneca got to his feet, "We must find that essay. No doubt that it will be inside the President's mansion."

"Hold on!" shouted Venia, "Your ideas are spreading like wildfire. Paranoia has overtaken us. Can we decide on a firm course of action?"

"I vote that we infiltrate the President's mansion and steal that essay," I said.

Everyone stared at me. I would stare at me too. My words sounded ludicrous and immature. The words of someone who had both nothing and everything to lose.

"I agree," replied Seneca.

"Me too," answered Alfie.

"Are you insane?" screeched Venia, "One does not just waltz into the President's mansion to steal a confiscated essay that the President regards as treasonous."

"We will need to sneak in. Seneca has been there before, he knows the layout," I answered back.

"This plan seems dangerous. What if they capture you? You will be hijacked for sure, no questions asked," Venia reasoned.

"We will be hijacked either way!" I retorted, "I am tired of running. It is time to take action."

Venia stared at us with incredulous grief. An awkward silent followed. With every second that passed, I felt more confident in my plan. Additionally, I began to visualize stealing the essay, ordering the President to return my parents to normal, and living a simple life again. It had been so long.

"I cannot back you on this," Venia said finally, "It is not that I do not believe you. Or, that I do not want the best for you. I believe the risk is too great. I do not want to lose you."

She seemed to be speaking to all of us. I glared with anger at Venia. Then, I understood. She was not against us, she simply had moved into the maternal mode. She wanted to protect us the way no one had. I wanted to cry for the pain she was experiencing. Instead, I hugged her.

"I understand. Thank you for everything you have done. But understand this, I need to do this. I need a normal life again," I whispered.

"Effie, what are you going to do once you get the essay? Threaten the President? This plan is not safe; it is a suicide mission. Please do not go," she coaxed.

Obvious flaws could not outweigh the fuel of free life. I had made up my mind. I was going even if Venia was not. The boys looked at us with wide eyes. They knew of the schism. Our party would have to split.

"I am going with Effie," responded Seneca, "I will not let her get hurt."

"Me too," answered Alfie, "I need to do this. Venia, stay. I do not want to cause you pain."

"Alfie," she howled.

I spotted something strange. Affection, deep affection ran through the air. I stepped out of the room, embarrassed for not realizing earlier. Venia and Alfie were in love.

Seneca followed me out of the room, closing the door silently behind him. He embraced me, stroking my hair.

"I am frightened," I confessed, "What will become of us?"

"Hopefully, everything will work out. Have faith," was all he said.

Plans began to formulate in my head. We would infiltrate the mansion. Surely, President Snow had the essay in a study of some sort. We would steal it. Then, we could confront Snow about the hijacking. He would have no advantage over us with the essay in our possession. If captured, we could honestly tell them that we knew nothing. It was full of flaws, sure, but rash action has always been known to outweigh common sense.

"Do you have any ideas?" I asked Seneca.

"A few. But, we will need to scope the mansion," he admitted.

Alfie stepped out of the room, supporting Venia with one hand and holding the keys in the other. He looked disgruntled, mortified, and embarrassed. Venia was very heavily crying. She hugged both Seneca and I with verve.

"So this is it then," Alfie spoke, "I have the keys. Seneca, Effie, get in the car."

"You are welcome here anytime," sobbed Venia.

We left promptly, opting for the backseat. Through the parlor windows, I could see Venia kissing Alfie gently. I pointed this out to Seneca and he nodded.

"Time flows, life continues on. One day, we too will grow up. Affection like that, deep, honest, true, rarely consumes the young. They are chosen by destiny, intertwined by misfortune. I pray that they will reach euphoria," Seneca recited.

"That was beautiful," I looked at him.

I had not seen him this closely all day. His eyes were full of strength, passion, and fire. He sought vengeance. He looked empowered. I kissed him gently as Alfie entered the car. Alfie took little notice, trying to glimpse Venia as he pulled out of the driveway. She waved from the parlor, wishing us silent victories.

We began the long drive back to the Capitol. It was agreed that we would recuperate in Seneca's mansion. Along the way, little words were exchanged. Seneca moved his hand onto my thigh, both passing on feelings of reassurance and desire. I remained positive, thinking of every possible way to get what I wanted.

"Let's rest up and tomorrow we shall scout," suggested Seneca, opening the door to the mansion.

"Sounds fine to me," I agreed.

"Yes," responded Alfie without much passion.

He looked absolutely defeated. Miserable with something that I could not quite place. Seneca offered Alfie a cigar, pointing to the balcony. I waited in the parlor, removing my heels. Through the glass, I could see Seneca patting Alfie on the back. I pressed my ear against the glass, hoping to catch a snippet, but the glass was too thick.

They came in, Seneca instructing Alfie on directions to the guest room. Alfie thanked him generously. He slumped off in that direction, looking a little more confident than before.

"Go talk to him," Seneca nodded.

I followed silently, knocking on the guest door. Alfie opened it as if expecting me. He gestured toward the bed, and I sat down.

"So this is it," I began, "Are you scared?"

"More so then before," he replied sitting down.

"You love Venia," it was a statement, not a question.

"More so then before," he answered again.

"Should I leave?" I began to get up.

"Wait, Effie. I need to make sure we all get back. Back to Venia's. If something goes wrong, I need to have a way to save everyone. Our family depends on it," he said.

"Mother and father have already been inflicted. We can only hope for their safe return," I responded quietly.

"Not that family," Alfie responded.

"Venia and Seneca, too," I added.

Alfie just looked at me, seemingly at a loss for words.

"What?" I asked, disturbed, "What is the matter?"

He sat quietly for a moment, willing himself to speak. I grew impatient with desire. I felt that he needed to reveal something deeply profound.

"You are going to be an aunt."


	37. Prior Engagements

**Prior Engagements**

I could not function properly for a moment. The news shook me like an earthquake. _Me, an aunt? _I figured that some day in the not-so-distant future this would occur. Alfie had always been so carefree as a child. Now, he would be a parent.

"Venia?" I asked cautiously.

He nodded silently. I understood her hesitation to follow our plan. If something happened to Alfie, she would have to raise their child alone. Well, Seneca and I would undoubtedly help.

"Does Seneca know?" I asked again.

"He figured it out when we left. He has given me his blessing. We are to be married before the baby arrives," Alfie cheered a bit at this.

"That is tremendous," I cheered.

Thoughts flashed through my head. My brother, the silly child that became my best friend throughout my former years, was to become both a father and a husband. Joy filled the confusion. Further, I was to become sister-in-law to the woman who helped me get through one of the most difficult times of my life.

"I am so happy for you," I touched him gently on the shoulder.

"Thank you," he smiled.

He looked rough. I pictured him figuring out Venia's conundrum, deciding to propose, and then leaving. He had left her to be with me. He stayed with me, though he could move on with a better life elsewhere.

"You are not happy, though," I observed.

He shuffled his feet indifferently. His hands shook as he began to pace the floor. Anticipation, anxiousness, despair, something filled his mind.

"What is it?" I asked concerned.

"How am I going to do this?" he radiated nervousness in a way that it seemed to bounce off the walls, "I cannot leave her. I am not ready for this. I, of course, do not regret anything. This is such a horrid predicament. Just another way that mother and father have ruined something wonderful for me."

"Do not say that," I ordered, "It is not their fault for our state. If she means what she truly does to you, then leave. Seneca and I can handle this. If anything happened to you, where would Venia be? She needs you, Alfie. Go be the man that I know you are. Go get your girl."

Neither of us took the other lightly. He regarded my words with a guiding light. It almost seemed as if he hoped that I would say this.

"Effie," he started.

"Alfie," I repeated.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

I knew that this was it. With my blessing, he would leave. He would be gone, forever if something bad happened at the President's mansion.

"I am," I answered back, "I love you. Do what is right."

"Thank you," he said with the first genuine smile that I had seen all day.

"Go on!" I pushed him jokingly out the door, "Right now. Do not leave her alone."

He collected his few possessions from around the room. I called him a cab, waking up a disgruntled driver in the process. He had regained a strut of happiness in his gait. I spoke to him with excited whispers about his future child. We discussed names, genders, and Venia. When the time came for him to leave, he paused at the edifice.

"You know, you are so full of love. I just know everything will be all right. If anyone can save this family, it is you, Effie. Best of luck to you and Seneca. Call me if you need anything."

He flew down the steps, leaving me alone in the guest bedroom. I heard Seneca move about downstairs, sending Alfie off. With the closing of the front door, I felt a part of me light up. The piece of my heart that belonged to brother. Illuminating, it rose to encompass my whole being. I felt transformed. A person who was never alone, yet vicariously living an oxymoron. I was alone physically, but never without those who I cared about.

"Effie? Where are you?" called out Seneca.

I had almost forgotten that he resided here, too. I closed the door to the guest bedroom, touching the knob with a feeling of finality. His voice was coming from downstairs. Traversing the steps, I remembered the old days. Before things like parental hijacking or impregnated sisters were known to me.

Seneca sat at the dining room table. The whole scene looked a bit absurd, because there were so many seats, yet Seneca sat all alone. I took the seat closest to him, taking note of his folded hands.

"You look pleased," I commented, not fully knowing what to say.

"An uncle," he stated, "I cannot believe it. I am to be an uncle. To the child of my girlfriend's brother."

"Are you angry?" I instantly felt a twinge of shock.

"No. Not angry. Just concerned," Seneca said toward the distance.

"Pray tell, what are your concerns?" I asked relieved.

"Alfie will make a fantastic father, no doubt. Venia, too, is ideal mother material. However, my concern is with their engagement," Seneca stated.

"What? You want to be the best man at the wedding?" I snorted.

"No. I have never been to a wedding. Have you?" he retorted.

I had not. No one that I knew ever took that direction of commitment.

"So what?" I asked him, "There is a first time for everything."

"Look at our family history. Our parents, all of them, where are they now? I just do not want something like that happening with us," Seneca expressed.

I considered his concerns. His fears seemed legitimate. I would be lying if the same idea had not crossed my mind at some point.

"You cannot think of it that way. Perhaps, they will not make it. Perhaps, they will. The important thing is that they are trying, and that is something that has not been done before by our parents. They are trying to protect our family, just like us. The abandonment stops here. He will not leave her. And I will not leave you."

This last sentence struck us both. I felt the reality of my words, weighing us down into the sea of steadiness. Seneca smiled at my words. His eyes lit up with something I had not seen in a while. Passion.

"I wanted to ask you earlier. You know, as a graduation present. However, all the chaos that came of your party diverted me from asking," he grinned.

"Asking me what, dear?" I smiled, thrilled at his liveliness.

"Well, as you know our siblings are engaged. I, too, feel the pull of desire. I talked it over with Alfie and he approved," he led me over to the balcony where they had had their discussion.

"Approved of what!" I grew impatient with anticipation.

Part of me knew what was coming before it happened. You always know before something life changing occurs. That human melodrama that we all experience fuels our knowledge of the unknown. The anticipation of bad or good news.

Seneca moved into the moonlight, dragging me along at a hurried pace. I felt his nervousness, so uncharacteristic of him, through his hand. When we reached a particularly vibrant moonbeam, he sank to one knee.

The moment had arrived.

"Effie Trinket, will you marry me?"


	38. Accessing The Inaccessable

**Accessing the Inaccessible**

Planets collided in the time it took to meet Seneca's eyes. He waited for my answer with heated anticipation, his eyes seeking for an answer in mine. I bit my lower lip, feeling the normal waxy texture growing raw in accordance with the cold night air. The moment grew awkward; the pause pregnant with anxiety.

"Seneca."

"Wait," he rose to his feet, straightening out his crumpled pants.

I wanted to get away from him. So many emotions, so many plans, hopes, dreams, thrown over the balcony and curb-stomped by my hesitance. Seneca turned away from me, resting his hands on the guard railing. My hand jetted toward him, then stopped in mid-air.

"I am so sorry," was the only thing that I would utter.

He chose not to acknowledge anything, surely moved to anger or unhappiness by my doing. I felt awful. The whole mansion seemed to turn dark, clearly disapproving. I could not take it. Opening the balcony doors, I crossed into the dining room. The once gratuitous dinner table turned foreboding. I went into the guest bedroom and sat on the bed, folding my hands in my lap.

_Plan time. I need to infiltrate President Snow's mansion. I do believe that my mission can be accomplished alone. Seneca surely will not accompany me now. Do I even want him to? Alfie cannot come back. _

I would be lying if I said that at that moment I was not annoyed by Seneca's actions. I mean, to propose marriage at such a ludicrous time? The concept was absurd, so absurd that it angered me. I made up my mind. I would go solo and receive all the condemnations alone. A knock on the door fought for my attention.

"Effie?"

"Please just leave," I whispered inaudibly.

"Effie."

The door opened. He stood there, his normal stance obstructed by negativity. He dared not approach me without a sign. When our eyes met, I had to look away.

"What did I do wrong?" he asked in a voice so quiet that I was not sure that he had said anything at all.

Of all the things I wanted to say, only one won out.

"Wrong?"

"Wrong?" he repeated, clearly confused.

I spoke to the floor, "Everything is wrong. However, you are not the cause. Not the only cause, at least."

The words sounded offensive, even to me. He recoiled at bit, but regained his act.

"I do not follow," he tried.

"How can you expect me to marry you at a time like this? Everything is just wrong. Take a look around, would you? We are alone! Do you understand? We cannot be married at a time like this, when everything is falling apart," my temper leveled on rage.

He absorbed my abuse like a sponge. With his canon personality, he spoke calmly, which infuriated me further.

"What do you not understand? The time for pleasantries, sweetness, innocence has ended. This is a war, Seneca. Leave your smooth talking at the door, and give me something real. I am going to the President's mansion to find out the truth. Yes, I may be killed or hijacked, but that is a small risk compared to this life that I am living," I snapped.

"But why?" he hastened, "What is wrong with the life we could have here? The life I can provide for you. Effie, we can be happy together. We can get out now, just walk away cold. You and I could have it all."

I stood up, my ambivalence over. I slid past him in the doorway, brushing his hand unintentionally with mine as I crossed. He motioned to stop me, begging for a few more words. I gave him only a statement.

"Having it all just makes it easier to lose everything."

He received the words like a strike. A strike to the heart. I had no time for crushed toes when the anvil hung over our heads. I conquered the steps and left the mansion without another word to its owner. In the distance, the President's mansion stood proud, glowing with life. My vendetta had taken course without ammunition, allies, or organization. For all I cared, I could break open the gates and simply run in, grab the essay, and destroy everyone inside. I had the wherewithal to take down anything in my way.

The chilly night air bit me. I swatted fronts away like mosquitoes in a swamp. Of course, there were no visible perpetrators. My journey to the mansion was not an easy one. For the umpteenth time, I cursed my absurd fashion sense. In the Capitol, nothing seemed practical.

When I finally reached the large border set around the structure, I realized that access was impossible. It would be easier to march straight up to the door and attempt to sell some obnoxious type of cookie. Infiltration was made unreal by the barbed spikes on top of the border, the armed patrol officers securing the lawn, and the number of invisible threats nearby.

"Come on," I urged angrily, "There has to be some way inside."

The border was full proof; not a flaw to be seen. Besides, the metal of the border stung my hand when touched, providing a numbing sensation. I wondered if that metal contained something chemical or if it was just the cool air on the cold material. The gaps in the border looked harmless, but closer examination showed them alive with electricity.

The surrounding buildings looked ominous. Jumping over the fence was out of the question. I was running out of options. There was no way through the border due to the electricity; no way over due to the barbed spikes, and digging under would take a millennium. Finally, I made the executive decision to reveal myself and ask to speak to the President. It was a long shot, a stab in the dark, and a needle in a haystack. However, it was the only way to gain access to the mansion.

"Hey!" I called to the patrolling guards.

One of the uniformed soldiers came over and checked me out.

"Get lost, kid," he snuffed, showing me some menacing weapon.

"I believe your men are looking for me," I spoke curtly, "Effie Trinket."

"What?" he asked stupidly.

"Are you thick? I am Effie Trinket. I demand to talk to President Snow," I ordered.

"Check this out," he barked to another soldier, pointing to me.

"What is it?" the second-in-command asked.

"This girl demands to talk to the President. Says she is that Trinket kid," he laughed.

If he were on my side of the fence, I would knee him in an unpleasant area.

"Well, is she?" the second asked, not finding his superior's sense of humor funny.

"How should I know?" the superior asked, scratching his face.

"Do you have any identification?" the second asked me.

"No. I demand that you allow me access to Snow this instant," I grew infuriated, "You come after me and my family, and you two idiots are denying me access now?"

The soldiers looked at one another and shrugged their shoulders. After minutes of freezing, they finally talked it over and decided to let me in. _Who were these buffoons? _Each one grasped my arm in a vice grip, referring to me as the girl. The escorted me inside the mansion. I took a long look at the Capitol, breathing in the courage I needed to perform an intimidating confrontation. Then, we were inside the mansion, walking toward the main chamber for a late night meeting with the President of Panem.


	39. Make Me Over

**Make Me Over**

Cautiously, I step into the main chamber. _Main chamber? Of course, there would be a main chamber. _The President has been alerted of my visitation, no doubt. The guards escorting me grip my arms with a steel vice, not daring to let me go. At one point, the guard on my left clamped so hard that I let out a yelp.

"Be silent!" he ordered.

I shot him a look of utter dislike. We marched on, the mahogany edifice looming nearer. I was so over feeling any sort of emotion at this point. I just wanted to get this whole business out of the way. I would simply confront Snow with my knowledge of the essay and demand an explanation. When we reached the door, the guards stopped.

"Well, what now?" I prompted loudly.

"Be silent!" they repeated.

I shuffled my feet together and faced the doorway. No matter the occasion, I wanted to look my best. I took the opportunity to straighten out my outfit. Suddenly, the doors burst open in a gesture of an oncoming wind. I was literally thrown inside the room, falling onto the royal carpeting that lined the main chamber.

"Miss Trinket, I presume?"

I carefully lifted myself off the carpet, my hands burning from the friction. Standing about ten feet away was the President. His back was turned to me, his sleek, dark hair stood back in a diplomatic way. His hands were intertwined behind his back.

"Yes," I spoke confidently.

He turned a quarter of the way around, not quite facing me. I rose to my feet from the crouching position that I had been in, and placed my hands at my sides. The room remained silent, except for his slight breathing. I suddenly experienced a second of nervousness. Everything, my whole teenage years, had lead up to this moment.

"Please, have a seat," he gestured toward a lacy seat placed near an innocent fireplace.

I crossed to the chair, never taking my eyes off the President. Something about him, I did not quite trust. _Could it be his eyes? His smell? What is it about him that sets my very soul on edge? _He left his place by the window and approached grandly.

"To what do I owe this pleasure?" his lips curled into a smile.

An involuntary shudder went through my spine.

"I am here to discuss the very real persecution of my family for alleged treason against the Capitol," I stated blatantly.

He remained still throughout my statement, an odd addition to a suspicious scene.

"Oh?" his head tilted toward the side, "I thought perhaps you would have other services to offer."

"I beg your pardon?" I asked, not quite sure of his insinuations.

"You see, we here in the Capitol know everything. Everything about everyone. What they are doing, and who they are accompanied by, at every moment of every day," he continued, "As such, I happen to know that you prefer the company of one Seneca Crane."

I remained silent for a moment, caught off guard.

"I am curious, Miss Trinket. Where is your suitor tonight? He does not strike me as one to abandon those that he fancies," the President sat down across from me.

He wore a grand suit, complete with a petticoat and a monocle peeking out of his pocket. A cane lay by the side of the fireplace. To lighten the air, I imagined him rising and performing a musical number. However, my fantasy seemed absurd, even for this situation.

"I asked him not to come," I decided to say.

"Funny. He is a contestant for the upcoming promotion for Head Gamemaker, is he not?" Snow inquired, already knowing the answer.

"Yes," I answered.

"Or maybe," continued Snow, "He has decided to pursue a more worthwhile position to secure finances for his sister. She is with child, after all. How difficult for your brother."

"How did you know that?" I sputtered, infuriated.

"My dear, I have already explained that I know everything. There is no use hiding from me. I, the immaculate ruler of all the districts. Ignorance is for the peasants."

"Do not hurt them," I threatened only to receive a laugh.

My heart beat wildly. Never had I imagined the President in such an all-knowing sense.

"Oh, rest assured that they will be safe. What has brought you to my home at such a late hour?" he asked.

"I have already told you," I hissed through clenched teeth, "You have been hijacking my parents and threatening my family. I will not stand for it."

This last line I spoke almost at a yell. My hands had formed fists.

"Can I offer you a drink?" he reached over for a decanter beside the fireplace.

I watched with infuriation as he poured two glasses with a cherry red liquid. No, not cherry red. Blood red. He handed me a glass. I sniffed the cup curiously. He seemed to sense my suspicion, so he answered by taking a convincing swig.

"It will not bite, I swear," he grinned.

Carefully, I raised the glass to my lips. When the liquid touched them, I instantly felt warmer. I took in the sustenance, eyeing the President. He looked at me with a smirk on his lips.

"You know, you are quite beautiful," he hissed.

I nearly spat the drink back. I stammered around for a napkin, trying with desperation to clean up the spilled droplets that had landed on my pants. He handed me a cloth, and I wiped the contaminates away.

"You are distracting me," I accused.

"Perhaps. You have made no declarations thus far," he pointed out.

"Oh, right," I grinned sheepishly, "I demand to see the essay my father wrote."

"It rests on the table. I assumed you would want to have a good look, so I pulled it out. I believe that you will be interested to know that a letter prompted it. Can you imagine?" Snow sneered.

My head swam. Things began to get foggy. Snow almost appeared to have three arms. I stumbled to my feet and crossed the main chamber, reaching blindly for something solid. The essay lay face up on a desk across the room. I grabbed it securely.

The pages shifted uncomfortably in my arms. Words turned into worms, squiggling to dash off the pages in frantic movements. I dropped pages in mass, finding it nearly impossible to hold on. _What is happening? _

"What you are experiencing right now is a rare poison coursing through your veins. I happen to be immune to its effects," Snow spoke from behind me.

I tried to spin toward his voice, but my movements turned lethargic. The room appeared to slant. Gripping onto the desk, I found that things became clearer. Snow was moving toward me. He walked stealthily, like a cat on the prowl.

"What is this?" I murmured.

"Admit it. You knew about the treason. You read your father's essay. You read the aforementioned letter. Only then will I provide the antidote. Surely, you will perish without it. Just imagine what irrefutable damage that will do to your family. Poor Seneca Crane might even kill himself," Snow was by my side.

"I do not know what you are talking about," I honestly answered.

"Do not play a fool with me, Effie," coaxed Snow, "You were accepted into Games school, were you not?"

"Yes," I responded, closing my eyes to prevent the room from inverting.

I could feel Snow close in on me. His powerful arms reached out and grabbed me, holding me steady. I was powerless.

"So beautiful," he caressed, inhaling the scent of my hair.

"Let me go," I almost begged.

"Doubtful. Admit it. Say it. Only then will you be free."

I reached a roadblock. My head swam, while nausea climbed into my throat. I was sure to be sick without the antidote. In my haze, I realized that Snow would have to slip. He would reveal crucial information. I just needed to play along.

"I admit it. I am guilty of treason. I knew all about my father's essay," I whispered aloud.

I felt his hands tighten. He pulled me against him, the smell of him overpowering. I wanted to be sick.

"What else do you know?" he hissed in my ear.

"I know that there was a letter. I know that my father wanted to disband the Hunger Games. I know that Seneca loves me very much and will kill you if anything bad happens to me," I spoke as if in a trance.

"Doubtful," he repeated, "Seneca will not do anything. You are all mine."

His lips touched my neck, freezing the spot where they landed. Deep red flashes played in my eyes. _The President is kissing me._

"You want that antidote, do you not?" he purred.

"Of course," I hummed, melting into his arms.

I had to play along, you see. I needed to. If Seneca got hurt on my behalf, I could never forgive myself.

"Then you will need to do a few things for me. That will not be a problem will it?" he asked, smoothing my hair.

Again, he kissed me. This time, he hit a sensitive spot on my neck. I suppressed a noise that had been threatening to expel. My heart screamed one thing and my brain screamed another. At that moment, I wanted to die. The poison almost seemed like a gift, if not for the threat against my family.

"No. Anything you want," I cooed.

"Firstly, prove to me your loyalty. Accept your invitation to Games School."

All I could do was nod. His spun me toward him, his face looming into focus. His dark eyes permeated my soul. I lost feeling in my legs.

"Secondly, I forbid you to wed that hideous Seneca Crane. He will only infiltrate your innocent mind with horrid thoughts. No engagements. No marriage. If you really love him, let him go," Snow ordered, staring into me.

I was hypnotized. _No! I love Seneca. _I would give him up immediately. _No! He is my one true love. _I would never see him again. _He is the uncle of my niece or nephew. _I will cut all contact with him.

"Thirdly, you will forget about all of this essay business. Your father is confused, and who really could blame him. That letter. It brainwashed him, you see. Not my Tracker Jacker venom. That awful letter got him. Give up your foolish misconceptions about the essay."

_Everything I know is a lie. Games School. No Seneca. No wild ideas of rebellion. This is going to become my life. Ladies and gentlemen, meet the new and improved Effie Trinket. _

"Is that understood?" Snow waited with baited breath.

My eyes flashed around sporadically. I could not hold on. The poison was pulling me under. The final moments came and went. I was going to die without the antidote. Snow had pulled a crystal vial out of his pocket. He tauntingly held it in front of my eyes.

"Yes."

His lips met mine full on. The kiss was overpowering. My knees buckled and I fell into him, convinced that I was dead. Surely, I was dead. Snow's last words to me seemed like something from another world.

"Forget about ideas of rebellion. Forget about Seneca Crane. You will never see him again. Forget about your family. They will only drag you down into persecution. And most of all, forget about that letter. That incestuous letter written by that traitor. That traitor, Haymitch Abernathy."


	40. The Figure

**The Figure**

Things are blurry. I can hear machines whirling wildly in the background of my subconscious like some kind of egg scrambler gone haywire. Nothing makes sense, and I fear nothing ever will again. Time has become infinite and ambiguous. I do not enjoy this feeling.

Every so often, I believe that a small voice enters my head. As far as I can tell, this voice is not known to me. It speaks two phrases:

"Because it has to end somewhere, right? The arena can't go on forever."

_ Why this? Why does such an ominous voice, so harsh in its execution, whisper these two incomprehensible fragments? Where are they from? Who speaks them? _

With difficulty, I can recollect simple things from my past. I am Effie Trinket, a Capitol citizen. I am a female. Besides those two facts, everything else is guesswork. The only reason that I even know of the latter's truth is due to one of the shapeless assistants that seem to be holding me under this cloud of confusion. Every so often, they come in and speak in low murmurs to each other.

"She is coming to."

"Get me another vial."

"Do you suppose the effects are wearing off?"

This last question rings around in my brain. _The effects of what? Are they wearing off? What have I become and further, what is to become of me?_

One day, everything stops. Faceless, fuzzy assistants grab at me, forcing me to my feet. The room is pitch-black. With the gentleness of a stampede, I am ushered into a dark hallway. I try to speak. My mouth is held shut by something strong. Those rough hands force me through the hallway, never once faltering. By the time we reach the other side, things have begun to lighten. The room is grey, not black. Everything is grey. At the end of the hallway lies a door. The assistants urge me on, pointing at the door without gesturing. I walk into the door blindly, reaching for something tangible to grasp.

In the other room, I find a mirror. The walls look soft, so soft that I could sleep propped up against them. I examine the walls with curiosity, taking in their texture and feel. The mirror captures my attention. I touch the smooth surface and find a heating sensation. Recoiling from the mirror, I turn to leave and find no door.

My forehead sweats. I do not understand this. Once, there had been a doorway. Now, there were padded walls and a hot mirror. I spin around quickly, determining that nausea has set in. Slowing down, I realize that I cannot determine any emotions. The words that I could have used in this situation-anger, frustration, confusion, dizziness-are gone. Replacing them is a dull jab to the abdomen.

Just when I believe that the end has come, a figure appears. They grab me forcefully, and I put up no fight. The figure guides me into a chair. _Was that there before? _My hands are forced into cufflinks that rest on a wooden desk. _Was the there before? _The figure crosses the desk and stands at the other end. I cannot distinguish anything about their face. No features come into focus.

"You are Effie Trinket."

The voice that reaches me is clear, precise even. I turn a bit at the sound, refusing to believe that it came out of this blurred creature.

"Reach up to your mouth. There you will find a small piece of adhesive. Remove it."

The cufflinks snap back into the table, releasing my arms. For a moment, I stand there dumbfounded. Then, as if automatic, I reach up to my mouth. A piece of material rests on my lips. I pull the sticky gunk away from my lips and find freedom. My lips feel cracked, yet indescribably smooth.

"Replace your arms into the holsters."

Again, my arms snap into the table. The cufflinks reattach, holding me into the desk. Drool pools down my chin. My body has agreed to disobey my thoughts at this point.

"In front of you lay two pictures. Take a look at them."

Two pictures lay on the desk, neatly arranged. I could not tell when they became real. The one to my left contained three people. One was a woman. She had blue eyes and thin lips. Her blonde hair sat in an elaborate design on her head. The other two people were men. The older man looked proper. He had a fierce glance in his green eyes. His lips were almost curled into a grimace. The man behind him looked significantly younger. He sported darker hair than the woman did, but still a shade of blonde. He showed a gleeful smile and the beginnings of facial hair. I could not identify any of the people.

The second photograph showed two people. One was a cheerful, dark-haired female. She looked proud and strong. The other person was a man. He had dark eyes, powerful eyes. He was dressed handsomely and fine. His facial hair looked impressive. Again, the figures were indeterminable.

"Do you know any of these people?"

I glanced toward the figure again. My lips were freed, but I found myself unable to answer the question. For a moment, we stood in silence.

"Answer the question. Do you know any of these people?"

A sharp pain began in my wrists. The cufflinks were becoming painfully hot. My mouth opened in surprise and let out an involuntary gasp.

"N-no."

The pictures were set ablaze. I watched with wide eyes as the couple disintegrated into ashes, piling up on the desk. Emotions were shortcoming. I found that had I even wanted to experience an appropriate response, I would not be able to. The desk changed. On the surface lay a myriad of objects. A wig, a pocket watch, a ring, a note.

"Do you recognize any of these objects?"

I tried to stare across the desk at the figure. They simple hovered in front of me, blurry and out of focus. A second glance at the objects produced no ephemeral emotions. I simply shrugged.

"No."

Finally, the desk cleared. It began to recede into the floor, the figure stepping over the pass to meet me face-to-face. They pulled me to my feet, and I found that my hands were freed. I rubbed my wrists, attempting to get the clammy, cold sensation off my skin.

"What do you know about the Hunger Games?"

The day continued with questions from every angle. No matter the stimulus, I could not seem to produce any appropriate response. The questioner never lost patience with me. Their tone remained lifeless through the procedure. No notes were taken. Overall, the session seemed useless. Furthermore, it was not efficient.

Not efficient for the simple face the information was being withheld. Undoubtedly, the masked aggressor must have had ulterior motives. However, I withheld key information.

Among the mass of pictures and objects that I was subjected to, only upon one item did I experience something. A gasp almost escaped my mouth at a picture of alcohol. The questioner took note of this and prodded me to continue with my findings. Something told me to shut up.

"Nothing."

"Do you know what this object is?" the figure prodded again.

"No."

I did not know what caused me to think of him. If it was even a male. Just that one name that rebounded around the graspable information within my brain. One name: Haymitch Abernathy.


	41. Welcome Back

**Welcome Back**

Something gargantuan is going to happen. All of this knowledge goes unsaid from everyone that I have come into contact with. Their bodies speak this information. _Hey Effie, _they seem to shout, _are you ready for this?_

I have attended no additional meetings with that strange figure. Eventually, I decide that rendezvous was simply a mirage, some sort of falsity that my mind created. Attendants check on me less frequently. At this moment, everything seems almost tranquil. I cannot remember anything from that ominous period known only as before.

"Miss Trinket?"

In my stupor, I have not noticed an attendant approach my lodging. Now, I sit up with zealous, awaiting this long desired speech.

"We believe that you are ready."

"Ready? Ready for what?" I immediately say.

"Your rehabilitation nears completion. We have decided for your reemergence into the Capitol."

The words go over my head. For quite a while during my stay, things seemed to blank out. Qualities like character traits, emotions, feeling in general, and memories were hard to come by. My vocabulary has improved somewhat, though. It seems that I am quite well versed in official speak, so to say.

"I do not understand. Rehabilitation? Was I sick?" I ask sweetly.

"Unfortunately, I cannot discuss your personal matters. Please stand and accompany me to meet President Snow in visitation."

Slowly, I get to my feet. _The President of Panem is here to see me._ Previously, walking was a challenge. I stride with a gait of a royal, following the assistant gaily. He leads me down a narrow pathway with lots of beeping lights and sirens. Remembering rooms has not been easy. This hallway looks unfamiliar, however I feel confident that I have been here before.

"Keep close, please," ushers the assistant.

I close the gap between us. The closer we get to this strange, foreign destination, the more I experience a queer sensation. Upon the departure door, I almost envision myself being shocked with emotions. By the time I step into visitation, my emotions have returned almost in full.

"What is this?" I squeal, feeling the effects instantaneously.

"You are experiencing the acquisition of pathos."

"Excuse me?"

"We have arrived. Please proceed directly to where the President is sitting. There, you will receive further instructions."

We have reached a heavy, caged door. Through a small, bulletproof window, I can see into visitation. A well-dressed man sits at a table, inspecting the contents of visitation. By the exit door, two armed guards watch over him. I press my hands eagerly against the pane, almost trying to diffuse through the glass.

"You are not to speak unless spoken to. You will not try to harm anyone. You will follow instructions as they are given. You will not try to escape."

The last of these orders strikes me as tantalizing. Until this point, escaping seemed pointless. I had no clue where I was, and I still do not know. I assume that my humble abode is some sort of hospital or prison.

"Please proceed directly toward the President."

A loud buzzing noise sounded and the bold door opened automatically. The pathway was clear and it took about twenty paces to reach my destination. I counted these aloud as they came. Finally, I reached the table where the President sat. Looking up slowly, I felt an awe of power radiating off his person, and something else. A strange sensation seemed to reach in my heart, but it vanished as suddenly as it had appeared.

"Miss Trinket," the President spoke with the hint of a grin, "Please, have a seat."

"It is an honor to meet you, sir," I curtsied before sitting opposite him.

"Indeed," he grunted, folding his hands in his lap.

He wore a handsome brown suit that contained the seal of Panem on the pocket. His face looked fierce, determination played out of his eyes. He seemed to search my soul.

"I am sure that you have a lot of questions. Is there anything that you would like to know?" he articulated slowly, as if I had trouble understanding him.

Thousands of questions pounded my skull, demanding to be released. Some inner part of me, one that had returned only recently, bade me to remain silent. For a minute, I struggled internally with myself, whether or not to question the President.

"Why have I been placed here?" I finally asked.

The President issued a bemused chuckle. It sounded almost like a choking noise, conceived from somewhere deep in the throat.

"You were sick. A group of your colleagues had placed lies in your head, causing to internal strife. Eventually, you became so ill that you began to act out, forcing me to intervene and place you here for your well-being."

"You placed me here," it was an accusation, not a question.

"Yes," he affirmed and repeated, "For your well-being."

Something seemed awry about our conversation. While he spoke, a strange odor ticked my nose. It was a mix of perfume and something unlikeable-a strong spice. The more he explained I began to envision flashbacks.

I saw a man. A handsome person with fashionable facial hair. His dark eyes gazed into mine hypnotically. The vision faded as the President concluded his explanation.

"Am I going to be released?" I questioned carefully, not wanting to anger him, yet feeling suspicious all the same.

"I had in fact stopped by to bring your release papers. And to see you off, of course," he stated simply.

He pushed an envelope toward me. On top of the envelope sat a white paper with small font. A signature line loomed out at me like a deadly snake. He produced a pen from somewhere inside the suit and delicately handed it over.

"Please sign the bottom," he looked me in the eyes.

Every part of my conscious squirmed under his brutal gaze. I so desperately wanted to throw the pen and run away. Now, the idea of escape seemed ideal. It seemed that the return of my emotions brought about feelings of negativity, something that I had been long depraved of. I signed the line with a shaky hand, not daring to meet his eyes again.

"In the envelope, you will find additional information. You will be released as of now, and I will escort you to your new establishment," the President rose to his feet and held out an arm.

I stood up gracefully, flattening the hem of my outfit while doing so. I accepted his arm carefully and cautiously, hoping that my rudeness was not showing. We proceeded to the armed guards, who stood apart upon our arrival.

"I am pleased to announce that you are our newest inductee into Games school. I expect to see you there come the start of the semester. We can expect great things from you."

I registered this with more pleasantry than normal. Actual excitement flooded my body at the prospect of some direction to take. Games school was not familiar to me; however, this was an unimportant matter for this moment.

"Thank you very much," I responded enthusiastically with genuine feeling attached.

Perhaps, my intuition was wrong about the President. After all, I did not blatantly dislike him. What was there to be worried about in the first place? He guided me out of visitation, and out of the facility that had hosted me for so long.

We reached the main doors, the doors that led to my freedom. Outside felt cool and inviting as we stepped through. Birds chirped brilliantly and radiant colors surrounded me.

"Welcome back," mused the President.


	42. Familiarizing

**Familiarizing**

We walked a scenic route from the institution-that was the word that he had used-to my new home. It was a lovely penthouse building located in the heart of what he called the City Circle. He told me that I would have the best view. The building itself must have been constructed very recently due to the interior shimmering like the sun. Then again, everything in the Capitol seemed to shimmer.

The President did not loiter. He simply handed me the key to my penthouse, told me the number, and offered a word of advice.

"Be careful who you talk to, Miss Trinket. We would not want you falling in with a bad crowd again."

I nodded, telling him that I understood his meaning, and saw him off. He walked with the bodyguards in sight, stopping once or twice to observe the happenings of his city. Within moments, he had disappeared.

I walked into the lobby of my new home and observed the casualty of the dwellers. They all seemed to know one another, speaking in loud tones of radiant fashions and ephemeral styles. I glided past unnoticed, thrilled and enthralled with the enchantments of my establishment.

The elevator itself must have been made of solid gold, crafted from some district far away. _District? _Humming a jaunty tune, I stepped into the elevator and waited until the doors closed. The President told me that I lived on the top floor, the twelfth according to the elevator buttons. When the elevator stopped, I took note of the single grand door that led to my home. I breathed a sigh of relief, I had made it. I was finally free.

The home itself had many splendors. A grand bedroom that contained a queen size for my pleasure. A bathroom with a luxurious shower, accustomed to my every whim. A kitchen with enough amenities to last me a lifetime. The President had not been exaggerating; the view was simply spectacular.

I simply could not take it all in at once. Almost forgetting the envelope, I sat on my brand new couch, a wrap-around that circumvented the length of the room in front of my grand television set. Before I opened the letter, I observed a simple flower vase placed onto a coffee table near my feet. In it, sat a rose.

"How quaint!" I exclaimed to no one.

The envelope felt thick, dangerously thick as if something could have been hiding inside, waiting for me to drop my guard. The President's talk of people falsifying my memory had gotten to me. I felt exposed, nervous for the first time in my new home. Trying to shake it off, I opened the envelope with a glorious rip.

I was holding the envelope at a bad angle. All the contents spilled onto the floor, scattering under my couch and across the chartreuse carpet. Embarrassment struck me, even though I knew no one could see my blunder. At least I hoped that no one could see me.

The collected documents were a medley of information. I had a card documenting my identification. It listed my name, my birth date, my new address, and mentioned that I had blue eyes. There was also a student identification card for Games school. I put the cards onto the coffee table, reminding myself to pick them up later.

An introduction paper sat in the pile. It stated that Games school was to start in a few days. I should be reacquainted with the town in the meantime. The penthouse was paid for by the President himself. Under the paper, a disc sat in my lap. The disc was labeled **Hunger Games**. I did not understand what that meant, but some vague sense in my stirred.

Suddenly, the phone rang.

I leapt up, alarmed, and searched frantically for the source of the noise. On the wall, I could see vibrations, visible vibrations, spread out from around the phone. Hurrying over, I lifted the phone from its cradle and put it to my ear.

"Miss Trinket?"

"Yes?" I spoke back cheerfully.

"This is the front desk of your penthouse calling. We are welcoming you to your new home with this phone call and encouraging you to call us at anytime. Please feel free to help yourself to our spa facility, pool, or bar in the lounge."

"Thank you," I gleefully responded.

"Can we offer you some complementary room service?" the voice inquired.

"Not right now, thank you. I look forward to checking out my new home," and with that I promptly hung up.

Following the note's advice, I decided to look around and reacquaint myself with the Capitol. I gathered up my identification card, my school card, and a credit card that I found inside the envelope, and left the room. The elevator carried me down to the lobby where the concierges urged me to "Have a wonderful day!"

The Capitol became more and more familiar as I explored. Once, I encountered a park and was almost knocked over by a wave of nostalgia. On my life, I could not remember any details before my incarceration. Even if I could, I did not think that they would be very helpful. I felt lost.

The City Circle looked a bit more familiar. I correctly identified a building as a shabby bar, having no earthly idea how I recognized it. My feet seemed to have a mind of their own, carrying me around from place to place. Finally, I stopped walking at the basin of a large fountain. Again, I got the feeling that something gargantuan was going to occur.

As if on cue, an elderly couple strolled past. The man wore spectacles and sported a respectable jacket. He held an arm around a delicate, frail woman with a wig that accentuated her features. They walked methodically past the fountain, talking in wondrous whispers. I leaned in closer instinctively, not quite in control.

"Now, now dear," the man spoke, "We must hurry if we want to catch the early dinner. You know that I cannot stay up past 7."

"Of course," whisked the woman, "You were never one for late-night activities."

Their voices struck me. I instantly recognized them with a flood of knowing. I rushed up to the couple and tapped the woman politely on the arm. She spun, surprised, and then caught my eye.

"My stars," she whispered astonished.

"What did you say?" asked the man, stopping to see the happenings.

He spun around and met my eyes, too. As if clockwork, he recognized me, too.

"Effie," they whispered together.

"Mother," I greeted the woman, "Father."

We stood there flabbergasted as Capitol citizens strolled by, unaware of the miracle that had just occurred.

"It has been too long," the man dismissed the thought with some strife, "It cannot be you, Effie. We thought you had left the Capitol. We thought you disappeared."

"No, never," I responded with sympathy.

A part of me surged out to them, wanting their love and companionship. In the back of my mind, however, warning bells went off. I had no clue how they had come across me, or how I knew who they were. In the institution, I did not speak of them.

I could see my resemblance in my mother's face. We had those matching blue eyes, full of tears now due to the unexpected reunion. I took note of my father's once strong face, wizened and deepen by the wrinkles of time. For a split second, I could not fathom reality.

"Why don't you join us for dinner, dear?" asked mother graciously.

I nodded and we walked silently to the restaurant that they were headed towards.


	43. A Copy of a Casualty

**A Copy of a Casualty**

I sat opposite them, watching curiously, as they spoke casually amongst themselves. We ordered a light meal, including a dietary option that I would not have remembered even with my unaffected mind. Truly, some odd force had to be at hand to force father into ordering something of that nature.

Mother spread her napkin over her lap in a proper manner, encouraging father and I to do the same. Almost like magic, I could hear her voice in my head, reminding me to mind my manners in public. Little by little, I began to remember trite details about my former life.

"Do you remember the picnics we used to go on?" mother asked chewing politely with another napkin plastered to her lips.

"Oh yes," I chimed in, "They were absolutely darling things. You, father, and I always had so much fun."

"You know what's strange?" mother asked glancing around the room to make sure that no one paid us any unwanted attention.

"No," I leaned in closer to set her mind at ease.

"I could have sworn that someone else used to come with us on those picnics. Some young man. Perhaps, he was a suitor?"

I closed my eyes instinctively, trying to picture one of those alleged picnics in more details. Before mother had said anything, I could almost clearly see the three of us sitting in a park, cheering and laughing. Now, blurry edges dominated the memory and shadows surfaced in places where they should not have been.

"Um," I responded, "There may have been. Unfortunately, I can't seem to remember."

"Right," mother seemed to shake.

The mysterious lad was not brought up again for the duration of the meal. I enjoyed catching up with my parents. I discovered that they had sought residency on the opposite side of the City Circle. For some strange reason, not one of us could remember my childhood home. I gave them the address to my new penthouse and bid them goodnight.

I returned to the penthouse, eager to look once more at the contents of the envelope. That disc had sat calmly on my coffee table, awaiting my return with a metallic shine. I picked it up, deciding that I should watch it sooner than later. The television in the room seemed to have an appropriate slot for the disc.

I changed my clothes before turning the television on, finding a lovely lavender garment hanging in my closet. It was tight, a form-fitting piece that showed off my legs. The city had become quite dark by this time, its wondrous lights illuminating the Capitol. I returned to the couch and took at seat in front of the television.

The disc loaded and a menu appeared with numbers on them. One through Seventy. The main screen read: Please pick the Hunger Games that you wish to view.

Seventy Hunger Games to watch. I made the correlation between Games School and Hunger Games. I wondered if this was some sort of game after all, then dismissed my idea with a nervous laugh. I chose one at random, marked **Second Quarter Quell: 50****th**** Hunger Games**.

The video began with a rundown of a process later called the Reaping. Four children were picked from each district. There were twelve districts altogether. I almost wrinkled my nose in disgust when the last district was shown. It was a disgusting, miserable place full of dark, grimy people.

The Reaping turned into what was known as the Opening Ceremonies, which changed into the interviews. Finally, the actual Games begun.

I had no idea what to expect. The whole concept of the Hunger Games sounded vaguely familiar, but anytime that I tried to conjure a picture of what they represented my mind fell short. Those children looked terrified, at least the later ones did. These Games must be very difficult. My screen followed a girl from the first district up and out of a tube that she stood in. The group of children stood in a circle, facing a golden structure. Then, a terrible shot rang out.

My heart rate escalated. The children spread like wildfire, some darting far away to parts unknown, others racing toward the structure. I spied one young man from the seventh or eighth district pick up a deadly looking object. Without so much as a word, he impaled a woman on his right.

My lost awaited emotions took hold of my whole conscious. I underwent a physical reaction to the violence and destruction that was playing out in front of me. It felt so good. The rush, the speed, the danger. It was overwhelming. I sighed with pleasure watching the Games, while internally having no idea why this reaction was going on. Eventually, I had to bite down on my hand to keep from crying out.

Disgusted and feeling guilty, I shut off the disc. I stood mortified between absolute terror and uncontrollable ecstasy. I was going to school to learn more about this sport. This exhilarating, daring sport. My part in the whole thing was unknown at this point. I had not seen many adults in the Hunger Games.

I decided that going to bed was a smart option. After all, Games School was to begin shortly. In my dreams, the Hunger Games replayed over and over. I woke up excited, feeling rested and strangely fulfilled.

My next few days were spent with exploring in the daylight and watching Hunger Games by night. I still had not finished watching the Second Quarter Quell. After every death, I paused the disc, opting to replay it multiple times, each time from a different angle.

Eventually, the night before Games School, I neared the end of the video. My camera had followed one of the girls from the first district, the one who had decapitated and maimed so many other competitors. Now, the camera found a handsome, dark-haired boy from the twelfth district. I had observed him casually before, but decided against viewing him due to his lack of action. He just kept walking away from a mountain that had a ton of action going on.

"Why?" the blonde girl from twelve speaks to the boy.

She has been following him for quite some time. It would be fair to say that she is fed up with his evasiveness. He spins around to face her, and I finally get a good look at him.

"Because it has to end somewhere, right? The arena can't go on forever."

Everything goes dark for a moment. I hear his words and automatically complete the sentence without having heard the rest. Names flash through my mind. Haymitch Abernathy. Maysilee Donner. I gasp reflexively, emitting a rather unpleasant noise. For a split second, a piece of my former self comes back.

I watch Haymitch Abernathy with curiosity and a sense of disbelief. Emotions flood out of me, growing out of control. I become angry for some strange reason, then transform into sadness for a life ended short. This life, however, is not a tribute. It is my life; was my former life, taken prematurely from something tangible and transformed into a clouded existence.

_I want it back. My former life. This is not who I am. I was Effie Trinket. Now, I am just some imitation of my old self. A copy of a casualty. _


	44. Make New Friends

**Make New Friends…**

The feeling was ephemeral. By the morning, I was back to a confused state of mind, searching so desperately for something that I dared not find. Games School was scheduled to begin the next day, so I decided today to shop around and attend an orientation. With my goals set, I awoke refreshed and ready.

I hit the City Circle with time to spare, searching every promising store for something that would catch my eye. In one shop, I found a handsome bag with white and black patterns. It reminded me of the coal-mining district with its asphalt black and gravel white. I purchased it on a whim, reading a note inside that insisted that it was district eights finest.

A light breakfast overlooking the City Circle also proved to be a good idea. I imagined a past that consisted of frequent trips here. Perhaps, even a date or two. This action was killed prematurely due to my growing frustration, a familiar sensation whenever I tried to remember something without a stimulus.

"Excuse me," said a light tap to my shoulder.

I spun around surprised and found myself face to face with a simple looking girl. A second look showed more features that were complex. She had an almost natural skin dye color complemented by low tone eye make-up that emphasized her determined look.

"Yes?" I asked politely, wondering if I knew her already.

"Your bag," she pointed, "Is that from 8?"

"Why yes! How did you know?" I squealed with excitement.

"Fashion is my greatest passion," she explained.

"Would you like to sit with me?" I offered her a seat.

She nodded and sat down, a coffee in one hand. She carried herself delicately and properly, crossing her legs at the ankle as she sat.

"I do love the city in the morning," she mused, appreciating our vantage point.

"Oh, me too," I agreed, "It really emphasizes all the lights and buildings. Look!"

I pointed over to the Training Center.

"The Training Center has an angelic glow to it. You would never notice that from a television set. Those poor people in the districts have no idea what they are missing."

"I agree. You know, it is a real privilege to wake up there every morning, having a wondrous view from your living room," she responded.

"Waking up there?" I frowned in confusion, "You are not a tribute, are you?"

"Goodness, no," she laughed gently, "I am one of the newest inductees into Games School. I want to be one of the greatest Stylists to ever work on the Hunger Games."

I turned to face her, "What a coincidence! I am an inductee as well."

"Portia," she said and held out her hand.

"Effie," I responded, giving her beautifully manicured hand a firm shake.

"Are you interested in styling too?" she asked, taking another drink.

I had never considered styling for the Games. Usually, Stylists were hard to come by. They have to work harder than most people working in the Hunger Games business do. I had heard that they spent as long as four years in Games School.

"I do not think that styling is for me," I finally answered.

"What a shame. You have great taste, Effie," responded Portia.

"Thank you," I mused, grateful that someone had notice my intricate décor.

"Do you live close by?" she asked, turning her attention back onto the City Circle.

"I own the top floor of a nearby penthouse," I chided, "President Snow gave it to me."

Portia seemed impressed by this. We shared fashion tips and little anxieties about school. After breakfast, we decided to scavenge the City Circle for bargain sales and discounts. She introduced me to a shop that sold luxury items, specialized by District 1. I pointed out my penthouse when it came into view. Around noon, she asked me if I would accompany her to the Training Center for orientation. I agreed hastily, finding that her company was pleasant.

The Training Center shimmered in the afternoon sun, a beacon of symbolism in the heart of the City Circle. Portia seemed to know her way around the lobby, directing me straight to the elevator.

"The actual tributes that compete in the Games live on floors one through twelve. The training part of the Training Center is in the basement. I have never been there, though," she explained.

We reached the elevator and stepped in. I noticed that the walls of the elevator were made of a clear material, allowing sight of the City Circle. I imagined the tributes riding up to their respective floors, soaking in the tranquil view before their whole lives were whisked away.

"So you live on the thirteenth floor?" I asked.

"Not quite. The Training Center is actually quite large. A few of the classrooms for Games School are in here. The majority of your time in Games School is spent in the discipline that you decide to pursue. For example, Stylists are sent to the City Circle to gather information on the newest fashions. Gamemakers are sent to the Training Center room to watch the actual tributes train."

"I think that I want to be an Escort," I spoke quietly.

"That could go either way," said Portia carefully.

"How do you mean?" I asked her.

We approached the bottom floor of the Training Center. Portia directed me out of the elevator, and led the way to a common room full of comfortable looking seats. I chose a large, purple armchair with an adjustable height setting. Portia sat down next to me and offered refreshments. I declined politely and bid her continue her explanation.

"You know that Escorts go to the districts, right?" Portia urged, "They take a Capitol train out of the city and view the Reaping live. They also accompany the Head Escorts on the Victory Tour."

"I never knew that," I told Portia.

I imagined going to the districts and meeting the tributes live. The idea was tantalizing both in a positive and negative way. The experience and the event itself would be stellar, the ultimate Hunger Games experience. On the other hand, the districts could be a nasty place for a group of Capitol citizens. After all, did they not try to rebel, forcing the Capitol to implement the Hunger Games in the first place?

We talked for a bit longer, and then went to the location of the orientation. The room was filled with young adults chattering about their current doings. A group of older Capitol citizens waited around patiently for the mass to settle. Portia waved to a few boys who had noticed her, then chose a seat near the middle of the room. I followed her, feeling a bit intimidated. Everyone seemed to know each other.

Portia explained that there were about one hundred Capitol students selected to attend Games School and that of those one hundred, only about half of them ever made it anywhere. I felt nervous at her words, silently praying that I was one of those lucky fifty. Boys kept gathering around Portia, but she declined all their catcalls and interactions to speak with me.

"Attention, attention," roared a man from the group of older Capitol citizens, "Welcome to orientation for Games School. You all have been selected to attend a wonderful journey. The pride of Panem, the famed Hunger Games, lay in your young, capable hands. We wish you the best on your upcoming education here. Please remember, you are the pride and representation of our great Capitol and you should conduct yourself in such a manner."

He directed this last bit at the group of boys surrounding Portia.

"I will not keep you from your orientation. In a few minutes, you will be released to explore the Training Center and ask questions from our representatives. These men and women next to me are alumni, each brilliant in his or her own way. Our escorts, stylists, and prep teams are quite well known, I believe. We have one new member, a young man who graduated just last year and has already claimed the title of Head Gamemaker, Mr. Seneca Crane."

A man on the end stood up with his hands crossed in front of him and nodded to the room. The boys hissed and the girls swooned. I was hardly paying attention at this point, having been too overwhelmed from the words passing by. Now, I noticed the Head Gamemaker and felt that familiar sensation.

He affected me the way that Haymitch Abernathy had.

Suddenly, I felt sick. Fiercely sick. I knew that if I did not leave the room soon, my lunch would reappear. I dashed by Portia, her legs lifting up to allow me passage. I fled from orientation, my hand gripping my chest as waves of nausea struck me.


	45. The Most Powerful Man in Panem

**The Most Powerful Man in Panem**

_Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. _Students passed by, some glancing briefly on their way into orientation, others gawking and lingering. Hundreds of nicknames pegged my mind as they passed, condemning me to an irreparable reputation. Portia eased out of orientation, quietly closing the door behind her. She leaned up against the wall, shielding me from prying eyes.

"Let's go to the powder room, shall we?" she whispered.

I followed her into a glorified bathroom. The sinks resembled grand fountains, water falling freely from them in heavenly streams. There were pink cushions for sitting next to a large vanity with make-up samples dotted over its marble surface. I took a seat on one of the cushions and crossed my legs at the ankles.

"I just….don't know. He, that man, he just caught me off guard, I guess," I tried to explain.

"Who? Seneca Crane?" Portia asked.

"Please, don't even say his name. I don't want anyone to hear," I pleaded silently searching for other girls in the room.

"Sorry. Do you know him from somewhere?" she lowered her voice.

"I don't know!" I threw my hands up in frustration, "That's the issue. Everything about him seems so fuzzy. He looks familiar. What did they call him? The Head Gamemaker?"

"Yeah, he was inaugurated about two months ago. He was a Gamemaker for a while, but suddenly he changed. It was frightening in a way. One day, he did a television interview with such ferocity that the interviewer almost passed. That man has such a way with words."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"He used to be a quiet, gentle man. Well, according to the other Gamemakers, at least. Something weird happened to him at home, some sort of family issue, and he lost it. He began designing all sorts of arenas. Arenas with fire, arenas without any source of water, impossible castles that tributes needed to scale. No one is really sure of what happened, but one thing is for sure. Seneca Crane has become one of the most powerful men in the Capitol."

I recalled watching the past Games over the last week. The arenas always seemed to be peaceful places, ironically. Lots of trees cultivated the ground, providing coverage for tributes. Vast lakes invited careers to build camps. Blue skies, birds, all sorts of pleasantries awaited those children in their last hours of life. Nothing like Portia was describing.

"You know, it's funny in a way," Portia chided, "Girls absolutely swoon over him. They follow him around religiously, as if he is some sort of God. Men always ask him for advice. He's very well-respected."

"How is that funny?" I mused.

"You didn't let me finish! It's funny because he never seems to be with a girl. I imagine with all his suitors that he would have a girlfriend or something. He never seems to engage in conversation unless provoked. I think that I have had one conversation with him ever, and it was about something dumb. Well, I was the dumb one."

Portia rambled about him for the better part of twenty seconds. As she spoke, the door to the powder room opened and a squadron of radical females walked in, speaking in excited whispers.

"Oh, that Seneca is so funny!"

"Just imagine what he wears under that suit!"

"One time, Seneca actually said hello to me."

I picked up all their words with a sense of hilarity and anxiety. _Why did everyone at this school have to find him so fascinating? _Portia continued to assure me that his eyes, when caught, happened to radiate into your very soul. I couldn't stand the incessant chatter anymore.

"I am sure that there are men here who couldn't hold a candle to Seneca Crane," I told her.

"Impossible. Seneca Crane is redesigning the Hunger Games. Pretty soon, the President of Panem himself is going to award Seneca with some sort of humanitarian award. There is a rumor going around that Seneca will supersede Snow as the President one day," Portia deferred.

"You've lost the plot," I muttered to her, annoyed by her swooning.

"I'm sorry, Effie. Maybe one day, you'll understand what true devotion means," Portia giggled.

"Maybe," I stood up to leave with Portia in tow, "but certainly not with that horrible, ill-provoking man, Seneca Crane."

I opened the door as I said these words, and ended up face to face with the name owner himself. Portia let out a gasp, which escalated into a swoon. Our faces turned beet red, hers from excitement no doubt. I, however, was humiliated. _How much had he heard?_

"Seneca Crane! I don't know if you remember me, Portia, but I just needed you to know that I admired your words. Well, I admired you, too. I mean, I absolutely love you. Oh gosh, not love, like love love," Portia suffered a terrible case of word vomit.

Seneca held up his hands in a defensive position, "You're too kind, Ms. Portia. Of course I remember you. We talked about the multiple shades of grass for a better part of an hour after all. How could I not remember something as descriptive as that?"

Portia laughed nervously, twisting her hands in her skirt. I stood unimpressed with Seneca, holding my stomach tight, hoping that he would leave. The unease and nausea threatened again. Portia smacked me gently, her eyes shifting from Seneca to me.

"Hello," I whispered quietly.

"Effie Trinket?" he quietly asked.

At the mention of my name, my eyes finally dared to meet his. I was so overwhelmed by his words alone, that his glare caught me off guard. He did not look friendly or angry. Instead, he permeated an intense look. I found that I could barely stand without support, the dizziness taking over completely.

"I need to leave," I quickly walked away from them, not daring to look back.

As I walked, I could have sworn he urged me to stay.


	46. Roses

**Roses**

I had reached the elevator when a strong grip pulled me back. Half of my brain ordered me to keep walking, but the other half demanded I stay and turn around. Conflicted, I let out a noise similar to that of a car tire squealing. The grip held me tight, daring me to face the owner in the eye.

"What was that all about?" they spoke.

Portia. It was only Portia, her tones light and full of empathy. She must have awakened from Seneca's spell just in time to capture me. I turned to her now, conveying a look of embarrassment in my cheeks.

"I'm sorry," was all that I managed to say.

"May I escort you home?" she asked with a concerned air about her.

I nodded and she took my arm, leading us to the magnificent elevator that waited. We did not speak the entire way up to the ground floor. I could hear her steady breathing, no doubt executed due to Seneca's former presence.

"I can tell you really like him," I spoke after what seemed like ages.

"Who doesn't?" she rolled her eyes, "Like I said in the powder room, he is one of the most powerful men in the Capitol. But, he would never fall for someone like me."

"You don't know that," I turned to her seriously.

She laughed, dismissing the idea, "Besides, he was definitely more interested in you than me."

I let that sink in and said nothing more. We left the Training Center, and I directed Portia to my penthouse. We were greeted in the lobby with cheers and congratulations, canon of my neighbors. The elevator took us to my floor and deposited us in front of my grand door.

"This is where you live?" breathed Portia.

"The President instructed me to live here," I calmly replied, finding my keys.

"The President!" Portia squeaked.

"Nice fellow, smells a bit odd though," I commented.

The penthouse was cool. Too cool for my liking. Cooler than I remembered leaving it. Portia took the opportunity to examine every nook and cranny of the place, marveling over the gold statues and potted plants that lined random parts of the room. She had a conniption over the 10-gallon fish tank in the powder room.

I checked the thermostat, residing in the living room, and noticed that the temperature had gone down almost ten degrees. Annoyed, I raised it again and thought nothing more of the matter. I instructed Portia to join me on the couch as I made us drinks with my portable blender. She immediately obeyed, eager to enjoy a bit of my ravish lifestyle.

"I cannot believe that you live here!" Portia gasped after I handed her a drink.

"Calm yourself, dear. It is not that great. I mean, the amenities are lovely, but I occupy this space alone. I sleep alone. I eat alone. It isn't like living at the Training Center where you could dine with whomever you pleased," I explained.

"I'll bet that if Seneca Crane knew about this, he would rush on over," she jested.

I shot her a disapproving look and she apologized. I turned on the television and my disc of the Hunger Games began.

"Ah, studying I see," Portia noted.

"Studying?" I queried.

"Yes. Entry-level students have to take a placement exam to find where they belong in school. The exam has questions dating all the way back to the first Hunger Games. They range from very easy, to difficult such as who won the second Quarter Quell."

"Haymitch Abernathy," I instantly spurted out.

Portia choked on her drink.

"What?" she said.

"I just…know, okay?" I snapped back at her, "I am not some kind of Hunger Games genius who knows all there is to know about victors or stylists or head Gamemakers."

I pronounced those last two words with disapproval.

"I just cannot believe that, Effie. You knew automatically who he was and which number Games he won. That cannot be a mere coincidence," Portia responded.

"Well, it is. I promise you that I know nothing more than that. I will probably fail the exam and be asked to leave Games School once they realize my inferiority," I told her.

She laughed gently and reassured me, "You will be stellar, Effie. I just know it."

Portia finished her cup, placed it in the dishwasher, and bid me good-bye.

"Come find me tomorrow. You know where my room is."

I nodded and dismissed her, placing my own cup in the dishwasher. The thought of taking a Hunger Games exam made me queasy, so I decided to watch another Game. This time, I watched the Forty-Ninth, the year before the second Quarter Quell.

I must have fallen asleep with the television on, because when I wake up, the victor is being announced. The television, however, was not the cause of my premature wakening. The temperature has lowered again. Goosebumps stand out of my skin, distorting my rather flawless features. I got up slowly and walked over to the thermostat. Again, the display read five degrees lower than normal.

"Portia," I spat annoyingly.

_The nerve she had to change my room setting. _I crossed over to the television angrily, and turned it off. I went into my bedroom to change into attire that is more suitable. As I was lifting my shirt over my head, I recalled that Portia had stayed clear of the thermostat for the entirety of the evening. Perhaps, she had gone over and turned it as I gathered the materials for drinks. Nevertheless, I would have heard or felt the temperature lower.

Confused, I sat on my bed. An odd smell drifted to my nose. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. The smell was coming from my bedside drawer. It was not an unpleasant smell, just something of a dull, unlikeable smell. Carefully, I opened the drawer and found a single rose laying there.

I could not remember having spotted the rose upon my initial arriving. Clearly, it had wilted. From its decimation, it had gained an unpleasant odor. I was relieved that this rose was the cause and not something more. My conscious at rest, I picked up the rose and disposed of it posthaste. Then, sleep beckoned.

The following morning, I reported to the Training Center. The conclusion of orientation told students that placement exams were to occur at the end of the week. I walked now to Portia's, in search of a study friend. She opened her door with an eager grin on her face.

"Good morning!" she bubbled and dragged me inside.

For the next half of an hour, we went through all her clothing deciding on something for her to where that was appropriate for studying. She was looking for something that she called "library chique". Never in my life had I seen so many clothes. It was no wonder that she wanted to become a stylist. She definitely knew material inside and out.

"Effie, be a dear and hand me that chartreuse blouse," she ordered without even looking at the clothes next to me.

I handed her what I believed to be the blouse. She laughed and showed me the correct blouse, which happened to be buried under half of her other blouses.

"I shouldn't even be helping you after what you did yesterday," I criticized her as I faced myself in her grand mirror.

"What are you on about?" she spoke, coming out of the closet with clothes hanging off her.

"You thought you were all tricky in my penthouse, changing the temperature like that," I explained and laughed for good humor.

"I never touched your thermostat!" she defended.

At her words, I froze up. My suspicion had been correct. I did not recall seeing her anywhere near the meter, but I had to be sure.

"I won't be mad at you if you did," I reassured her with the hopes that she would confess.

"Sorry, Effie. I wouldn't even know how to work one of those things," she spoke.

My brain searched for an explanation. Perhaps the meter was simply malfunctioning. I decided that I would have a word with maintenance when I arrived home. Portia threw on an outfit and stood in front of the mirror.

"How do I look?" she asked.

"Like a librarian ready to check out more than books," I snorted.

"Ah, perfect," she smiled.

We crossed over to the official library of the Training Center, one of the biggest in Panem. There were manuals that covered everything that would be on the Hunger Games exam up for use, so Portia and I each grabbed one and began to quiz one another.

"Alright, Effie. Why isn't cannibalism aloud in the Games?" she questioned.

"Um, because it is absolutely vile?" I answered and we both laughed.

"No. It has something to do with television laws and the amount of gruesomeness displayed on television," she answered back and we laughed again.

"Isn't that a bit ironic?" I questioned, "I mean, they flat out show tributes dying all the time, but a bit of cannibalism sends the Capitol into a frenzy?"

"I guess so. I think that the Capitol is scared of people getting ideas. Who knows, you could be walking down the street one day, and someone could try taking a bite out of your leg!" Portia answered.

"Alright, here is one for you," I began, "What are the Head Gamemakers responsibilities?"

"Well, obviously being a major hunk is one!" Portia giggled.

I tried laughing too, until I remember who the Head Gamemaker currently was.

"We do a lot more than that. For example, I choose the arena and all the obstacles that make up the current Hunger Games. Additionally, I approve all decisions made by the Hunger Games council and report directly to the President himself. All while looking very proper, I might add."

We both spun around at the voice.

There he was with all his greatness displayed. Today, he wore a grand suit with a red tie down the front. His beard has been shaved into an intricate pattern for the occasion. Portia noticed him immediately, and let out a gasp. I followed her eyesight and met the strong glare of Seneca Crane. He winked at me and left the room.


	47. Picture Perfect Memories

**Picture Perfect Memories**

"Oh, go get him already," growled Portia, shooting me a wink.

"What? No. You are crazy. That is crazy. He makes me feel repulsive," I chided, spinning around to face her.

"Effie, you're attraction is painstakingly obvious. Please relieve the tension in some way," she responded.

"Fine. You know what? I am going out there, and I am going to order him to stay away. Obviously, he just wants to get a rise out of me," I spat, standing up.

"Obviously," Portia breathed.

"Oh, come on. Do not be jealous. I will be back in a hot second, one less man following me every move," I huffed.

Eyes followed me out the door, their glances piercing my confidence like a handful of daggers. By the time, I reached the corridor connecting the stairwell to the balcony and the lobby of the library, anxiety had taken hold. _This is ludicrous. Besides, he is not anywhere to be seen._

"Looking for me?" spoke a soft voice from behind.

There he was, sitting calmly on a bench in plain view. I had completely and obliviously passed right by him. He now stood; legs slightly spread apart, hands behind his back. He wore a strong and triumphant grin. His look alone set me on edge.

"Look," I began, "I have no idea who you think you are, but following me around is not acceptable."

The instant I said that, I instantly regretted it. His eyebrows shot up in confusion and a hint of amusement. He walked closer, regaining his stance.

"You think I am following you?" he mused.

"I-I don't know what to think," I whispered, taking a step away.

"You realize that I am the Head Gamemaker, the person solely responsible for every decision that the Hunger Games committee makes. It is my job to know what is going on at every part of this Training Center. I am just doing my job," he stated.

I sensed a bit of anger in his tone.

"Mr. Crane, I am so sorry for my rudeness," I replied.

"Please, Seneca," he answered, "You don't remember me, do you?"

"Why should I? I have never seen you before in my life," I responded.

He looked at me with such anger and hurt that I had to look away. I could hear his mind racing a mile a minute. There were so many things that I could tell her was dying to say. I closed my eyes, attempting to think back. _Did I know him?_

"I see," he finally managed, "I am truly sorry for bothering you, Miss Trinket."

He turned to leave.

"Please, Effie," I called out.

He stopped.

"Effie."

"Yes."

He remained motionless for a moment.

"We were in love once."

My eyes snapped opened wider. Visions of a haunted, distorted past splayed through my mind. I could see it. The times we spent in each other's lives. Our life. I could see it all. When I regained my sense of being, he was halfway down the hall.

"Seneca!" I called.

Again, he froze. I ran up beside him and forced him to turn around. His eyes met mine and searched for something familiar. Something homely. I imitated his glance, trying to find anything that would provide a clue for what was happening.

"Do you remember anything?" he asked.

"Barely. I just know, alright? I know that I know you," I gushed.

Frustration filled me_. Why couldn't I remember more? _Nothing concrete or even remotely accurate formulated inside of my head. I could feel his disappointment radiating out.

"I'm just so confused, Seneca. I don't know what's happening to me. Everything used to be so clear and concise. There was a time where everything was simple, right?" I asked.

He let out a laugh, "Nothing was ever simple with you, Effie."

I smiled at his comment. Perhaps, he could fill me in on the memories I lacked. He moved closer to me, our breath becoming shared. As I took him in, his smell caught me off guard. It was so familiar, yet so overwhelming. All of the sudden, nausea overtook me. I needed to get away quick.

"No," I breathed as he moved in, "I can't."

"Why not?" his lips moved closer.

"Please, just let me go," I cried out.

I stepped back and turned toward the library. I could see eyes staring at me through the panes that separated the lobby from the library. Girls were gasping, pointing, and shaking their heads in disapproval. One girl appeared to be crying into her friend. 

"Effie," he called from behind.

"Just leave me alone!" I shouted back at him.

He eyes widened in shock. He moved forward, but stopped as if something had caught him. Then he shook his head, and snapped his arm down to his side. He stomped away, leaving me all alone in the lobby.

I sank to my knees, gripping my stomach, hoping that I could escape this desperate scene. All the unwanted attention from the girls bothered me less than the fact that Seneca made me feel awful. Subconsciously, he had destroyed me. And I had destroyed him.

Portia rushed out of the library, scooping down to lift me to my feet. I threw my arms around her head, and she just hugged me. Holding me tight, everything seemed to refocus. I could understand things again. I realized that Seneca had done nothing wrong.

"I don't understand," I cried into her, "Why is this happening to me?"

"Effie, what is going on with you? This type of behavior is not normal," she asked, with genuine concern in her voice.

"He makes me feel so sick. Every time he is within a few feet, I feel awful. And what's more is that I feel like I know him. I know that I know him from somewhere. I just cannot remember ever meeting him. I cannot even remember what happened before I met the President," I explained.

"What?" she seemed so overwhelmed by my words that she had to drag me over to the bench Seneca had been sitting on.

"I talked to President Snow one day. The day he gave me the key to the penthouse. But everything before then is a mystery," I said.

Portia just stared at me. She was at a loss for words.

"I think that you have been hijacked," she finally said.


	48. The Exam

**The Exam**

Two hours later, Portia and I sat in her room, different books about hijacking spread out in front of us. She quickly scanned passages for anything about memory loss. I sat watching her, my hands pressed to my temples, trying desperately to remember any trivial detail. Her frantic fingers flipping through the pages set me on edge.

"Portia, just stop it," I snapped, "This situation is hopeless. The whole procedure is experimental, you know that as well as I."

"Well, we have to do something," she responded cautiously.

I made an annoyed noise and turned away from her. I did not want to mention how desperate I was for her to find something, _anything _that mentioned a cure. Failure was more than a simple disappointment in my case.

"Aha!" she cheered moments later, "Let me try this. Come face me."

Slowly, I turned toward her. She slid off her bed and sat across me on the floor, her legs crossed in typical Portia fashion. Her eyes scanned the book with rapid intensity.

"How old are you?" she began.

"I don't know!" I practically shouted at her.

"Think," she pleaded, looking up from the book.

"I was six during the second Quarter Quell. That is all I know," I responded.

"We're gearing up for the Seventy-First game. You are somewhere between twenty-five or twenty-six. That is perfectly normal," Portia explained.

_Twenty-five or twenty-six? How long have I been gone for? I missed my early twenties. I missed the end of my teenage years. It's no wonder that Seneca looks at me as if he has seen a ghost. But, how can I work off multiple years of being under?_

"Say something," Portia laughed.

"What?" I answered, coming out of my reverie.

"I said do you want me to throw you birthday parties for every year you've missed," she giggled.

"This is no laughing matter," I cautioned.

"Fine, I am sorry. Let's keep going, I think we are getting somewhere," she chided.

"Don't you need to be studying for your exam? It is tomorrow after all," I reminded her.

"This is more important," Portia answered, consulting the book again.

We talked for over an hour about trivial details that I could not recall. Eventually, I became so dismayed and apologized before leaving. I spent the rest of the night going over my notes for the Hunger Games exam. Again, failure was not acceptable. I ended up falling asleep nose deep in a textbook from the library.

The next day, I awoke so stiff that it took me five minutes just to get out of bed. A look at my clock told me that I was going to be late if I did not get a move on. I threw on a simple outfit, combining studious and sexy. Twenty minutes later, I took my seat, ready for the exam.

Seneca Crane entered the room, his hands placed delicately behind his back. I looked up once, saw him, and proceeded to stare at my desk for the rest of the morning. Seneca glided along the long rows of students at their desks. His simple steps echoed in the studious silence.

"Good morning, future Hunger Games workers. We are here to begin your examination. Your scores will directly reflect your placement for the rest of your time here. They will also dictate what program you pursue and how quickly your internship will begin. Good luck and may the odds be ever in your favor."

A boy in front of me passed back a packet. I gave one to the girl behind me, and tried to find Portia in the room. Seneca Crane sat at the front, his eyes trained on the clock. Portia sat near the right-hand side of the room, sharpening a pencil. I opened the packet and removed the test.

The first page asked some questions about Hunger Games history. The second recalled protocol on Reapings. The third asked me to list positions in the franchise. I slowly etched in my answers, feeling confident due to my studying. I was almost through the whole thing, but then the essay section loomed into view.

Why are you interested in becoming a part of the Hunger Games?

I stopped scribbling in answers. My brain, the hijacked, convoluted, foreign thing that it was, shut down. I looked at each word individually, letting the black font enter my bloodstream and fill me up. My breathing slowed the initial reaction fading. I realized that I had begun to chew on my pencil.

Why are you interested in becoming a part of the Hunger Games?

Slowly, at a snail's pace, I began to write.

I am interested in becoming a part of the Games.

But, that was not good enough. I scratched that out, because the eraser was missing from the pencil.

I am interested in becoming a part of the Games.

"Five more minutes," the proctor yelled over the intercom.

Panic struck in. This was the last question of the examination, the only one that ever really mattered. I needed to answer this in order to become someone. I could not afford to fail. I thought for a moment, and then let the words flow.

The Hunger Games is the single most important event we have today. Why? Simply because it reminds of us struggle and sacrifice. We, in the Capitol, have become befouled and sinned by ourselves. The Hunger Games reminds Capitol citizens that they must be wary, or else we can expect to find ourselves living in our own arena. The districts that so difficultly offer up their tributes cannot expect us to seem strong, unless we prove our strength. As an addition to the Hunger Games franchise, I will display the strength needed to convince the districts to stay subservient under our eye. A spark-so to speak-is not necessarily a bad thing. However, that spark must be controlled. I will control it, and thus bring our glorious Capitol into a higher state of living. A state that raises Panem in the eyes of our opposition and causes us to become a force to be reckoned with. Power is our greatest asset.

"Time's up," the proctor announced.

I stared blankly at the words in my response box. They looked foreign, as if I had not written them. I felt nervous. The response was so coy-so unbelievably treasonous. If I had a sensible bone in my body, I would erase the whole thing now. _Erase it, Effie. Do it!_

The boy in front of me reached around and grabbed the packet off my desk before I could say anything. I felt physical pain strike me as the girl behind threw her packet my way.

"Come on, pass this up!" she hissed angrily.

I obeyed, giving the packet to the impatient boy. Everyone got up to leave as the packets were passed forward. I remained in my seat until everyone had exited the room. Then, I got up to leave, the ghost of a smile played across my lips.


	49. Taking Action

**Taking Action**

The next few days were tedious as I waited for my results. Portia stopped by to discuss the answers after the exam, but I hardly listened. I refused to speak about the essay when asked. After our confrontation, agitation filled me to the core, so I fancied a walk to the City Circle. On my way, I decided to stop by my parent's house.

The house seemed distant, yet permeated a familiar air. I stood awkwardly on the doorstep, hesitant to ring the bell. A neighbor came out of the house on the left and shot me a curious glance. I waved slowly, wondering if I knew them. Finally, I rang the doorbell and stood back from the edifice.

"Hello, dear!" mother whistled as she opened the door.

She wore a simple monogrammed bathrobe. Comfortable looking slippers decorated her feet. She smiled and bade me come inside. I entered and immediately felt those familiar waves of nausea roll over.

"How are things?" she asked curiously, leading the way toward the parlor.

"Normal as usual. I took my placement exam for Games school," I responded, examining the walls.

On a bureau between a mirror and grandfather clock lay two pictures. I recognized a younger version of myself in the right picture. I sported a powdered wig and a cheesy grin that had long since faded. In the left picture, a handsome boy smiled back. He looked similar in looks, but small in size.

Mother walked out of the parlor, annoyed at my absence. I took my eyes away from the pictures and followed her back into the parlor, more confused than ever. She sat eloquently on a couch that faced an expensive television.

"Where's father?" I asked her.

"Oh, I am sure that he's around somewhere. You know how he likes to keep to himself," she answered, "You know, we are both very proud of you, dear. Especially your father. You know how he loves the Games. It is simply delightful that you are to become a part of that franchise."

I smiled, grateful to be reassured of my actions. Mother caught me up with all the local drama involving the neighbors and a particularly nasty plant that grew in their garden. I only listened halfheartedly, other thoughts pervading my mind.

"Mother," I interrupted her criticism of the garden.

"Manners, dear," she condemned me.

"I am sorry," I spoke quietly.

"Well, what is it?" she prodded further.

"Nothing, really. I am curious as to who the fellow in that picture is," I pointed toward the matching frames.

Mother bit her lip and pulled herself off the couch. She began to pace the room frantically, muttering under her breath. I became alarmed at her sudden discourse and tried to remedy the situation.

"Look, I did not mean to upset you," I spoke standing up.

"Effie, do you remember when you were six? We took you to the park before the second Quarter Quell?" she suddenly asked.

"What?" I snapped.

"We took a picnic basket and ate in front of the Training Center. You, me, your father, and…."

"And?" I repeated eagerly.

"That boy was with us. He used to live here, I don't know if you remember that," she informed me.

"Who is he?" I almost shouted.

"He…he's your brother, dear."

For the next minute, no one spoke. Mother glanced nervously toward the steps that led to the second floor. It was then that I noticed father. He looked timid and uneasy with what he had just walked into.

"Hello, father," I moved forward to greet him.

He remained catatonic as I hugged him gently, and then looked at mother with anguish.

"Our son," he whispered barely loud enough for me to hear.

I felt that icy dullness set in again. _A missing child, the remaining part of our hijacked family. My brother, whom no one can seem to remember, yet never truly forgot._

I chose to sit back down on the couch. Mother ushered her way over, dragging her feet across the carpet. She placed one hand on the small on my back with reassurance.

"What is the matter, dear?" she cooed quietly, sitting next to me.

"I just cannot seem to remember facts about my life. I cannot recall having a brother. I do not remember anything before that stupid encounter with the President. It has been brought to my attention that I am almost in my late twenties. What happened to my childhood? My teenage years? Why can't I remember?" I spat with hysteria.

Mother let go of my back quickly. I chanced a glance at father and saw him standing in the parlor doorway with a look of anger on his face. At that moment, I knew he understood how I felt. He knew about the constant state of confusion, the frustration, the inner turmoil. Mother looked from my determined, overwhelmed face to that of my father's. She patted my hand gently and decided that it would be proper to leave us alone.

After she left, he spoke, "So you feel it too?"

"Yes," I answered determinedly, "What can we do?"

"We have to fight it, Effie. We will get through this together. I have neglected my parental duties and marital commitment for too long. We are Trinkets. We are going to kick this thing in the face and become better people because of it. Are you with me?" he looked me directly into the eyes.

I felt a surge of pride at his words, and gave him the first sincere smile that I could muster, "Of course."

We embraced passionately and I felt genuine feelings returning. An indescribable ecstasy trip to the moon. Mother returned with an exquisite glass in her hand, her face beaming when she noticed the course of action. She came over and placed a kiss on my cheek.

"We are going to get our memories back. Then, we are going to get your brother back," she whispered.

Finally, I let the long held tears flow. The moment was absolutely perfect for everyone involved. I decided to leave and get a move on, wishing them both the best. On my way out, I made a silent vow to the picture of my brother-_simply saying the words in my heart ignited a spark in my heart_-and left.


	50. Placement

**Placement**

After leaving my parents, I decided to stop by Portia's and tell her about my plans. Halfway there, however, she bolted out of her room and dragged me through a hallway.

"Portia, slow down. Where are we going?" I asked as she tugged my arm.

"They put up the results!" she flustered, knocking a disappointed boy out of her way.

"Stop," I tried to break away, "Why is this so important?"

"Why is it so important?" she repeated, "It only determines where you go and when you start doing whatever it is you are meant to do."

She continued to drag me until the results came into view. The scores were posted on large boards next to the door leading into the tribute gym. A large crowd had already built up around the boards, some yelling encouraging messages and others just yelling. Portia practically shoved us inside the mob, batting students away with a twist of her hand.

"Find yourself," she demanded.

I cast one eye up onto the board, expecting to find my name crammed into the bottom of the escort section. There were only twelve spots. Scanning quickly, I could not find my name.

"What happens if your name is not on the list?" I asked curiously.

"You aren't on the list?" Portia frowned.

"I…I don't think so," I confirmed.

"That's strange. We studied so hard. Usually, they send you a letter explaining why they did not select you. You might need to talk to Seneca Crane. I think he is in charge of all the non-placers," she explained.

"Do not call me that," I demanded, "Are you on the list?"

"Maybe. There are more names on the stylist list," she answered.

The stylist list had twenty-four spots, one for each individual tribute. The pair of tributes from each district only needed one escort. I helped Portia scan the sheet, but we were unable to find her name. She turned away disappointed.

"Hey, do not be upset. You will be just fine. I did not get in either," I tried consoling her.

"I just…I tried so hard, you know? I really wanted to make a difference," she murmured.

I guided her away from the boards, hoping that maybe some recreation would cheer her up. I just did not understand; Portia and I were the perfect students. We had studied hours for the exam, and to find out we did not place was simply heartbreaking.

We returned to Portia's room and sat on her bed. I suggested that we play a game and she agreed solemnly. I turned to pull out one of Portia's designing games. Suddenly, her room phone began to ring.

"Hold on, Effie," she instructed as she made to grab it, "Hello? Oh, hi dear. Yes, I saw the board."

I grimaced at the mention of the stupid board again.

"You did? Oh, that is fantastic. You are going to be a great Peacekeeper. I had my suspicions, you know. No. No, I did not make it."

I had no clue that you could test to become a Peacekeeper. I always thought they had to come from a district. They were not too common in the Capitol. Occasionally, they came through with troublesome tributes or for presidential purposes.

"What? The intern board?" Portia became high-pitched, "I didn't even see that. I'll call you back."

"What?" I asked as soon as she hung up.

"That was my friend from upstairs. He just became a Peacekeeper," Portia explained.

"Fantastic. What was that about an intern board?" I reminded her.

"Right, well apparently, there is another board with prospective students who may intern this semester. What do you say we check it out?" she mused.

I nodded firmly and followed her out. Secretly, I hoped that she found her name. I did not want to have to comfort her again. It was too nerve-wracking, especially because I had no expectations to find my name there.

"Look! You are the first name on the list!" Portia squealed as she pointed to my name.

"And you are right here," I pointed her out a few spots below.

"We made it!" she squealed, jumping around.

A few disappointed students shot ugly glances at us. I looked harder at the list, finding a bold addendum at the bottom. It read:

**All prospective interns are to meet with Seneca Crane immediately.**

I sighed deeply and felt myself shake a bit. I had done my best to avoid him. Now, I was forced to meet with him to decide the fate of my career.

"It says here that we have to meet with Seneca Crane," I filled Portia in.

"Lovely," she winked, "When?"

"It just reads immediately. Should we head to his office?" I asked.

"Why not? We are interns!" she cackled wildly, leading the way.

Seneca's office was located in the main part of the Training Center. To reach it, we had to go through the door to the tributes gym, and into the golden elevator that brought the tributes to their rooms. Portia selected the ground floor, located below the first, and guided me through the lobby to Seneca's grand office. There were three students waiting outside, clenching packets and chatting loudly.

"Is this the line to meet Seneca Crane?" Portia crowed.

"We have met with him. He gave us these packets and answered questions. We are just waiting for my roommate to finish meeting with him," one of the students explained.

"Let's sit down," I encouraged Portia.

We took two seats and waited. I crossed my legs at the knee and attempted to straighten out my blouse. I was in no mood to see Seneca Crane, and I wanted our encounter to be as painless as possible. Portia was a regular chatterbox, questioning the other students on their essay responses. Finally, the door to the office opened.

"Thank you, Mr. Crane," spoke a flush-faced student, gripping a bright packet.

"Go ahead," I urged Portia who was bursting with excitement.

She flung herself up from the seat and I wished her luck. She entered the office and the magnificent door closed. I preoccupied myself with looking over my nails for inconsistencies.

"Hello," spoke a male student.

I recognized him as the one who had just exited Seneca's office.

"Hello," I responded coyly.

"I am Orion. Who might you be?" he glanced me over.

"I am uninterested," I spoke back quickly, annoyed at his glancing.

"Oh no, I'm not coming on to you, sorry. I was just trying to be friendly," he corrected.

"I see. In that case, I am Effie Trinket, but you may call me Effie," I smiled.

"Effie Trinket, that is bold," he grinned in response.

At that moment, Portia came waltzing out of Seneca's office, shouting praise over her shoulder. I laughed at her actions and she shot me a look of confusion. I stood up and she took my spot.

"Later," I said to Orion.

I walked cautiously into Seneca's office, angered at being temporarily distracted from my uneasiness. His room smelled pleasant and had a beautiful amount of natural sunlight streaming in. He sat behind his desk, rifling through some papers. When I shut the door, his eyes lit up.

"Why hello, Effie," he called, "Please have a seat."

"Seneca," I greeted him stiffly.

"I reviewed your exam and I have a few questions," he stated, pulling out my exam, "The multiple choice answers were standard, a little better than most. The essay, however, is questionable."

He pointed to my neatly written script that infected the rather official document. I felt the bile rise in my throat. _What was I thinking, writing that sassy essay?_

"What about it?" I spoke stiffly, deciding to defend my work.

"You realize that this could be considered treasonous?" Seneca asked.

I frowned a bit at his words. His tone sounded so harsh. It was almost as if he hated my essay. I panicked more, starting to wring my hands under his desk.

"Well, maybe. If it is interpreted that way," I choked out.

"Explain, please," he sat back and placed his hand on his chin, crossing his legs.

"I just believe that we should get back to our roots. We started the Hunger Games as a defiant act, not a source of entertainment. If we are going to make a statement, let us be sure that we are making the correct one," I spat out.

He remained quiet for a moment, and then smiled. He even let out a triumphant laugh.

"I knew it. You are getting your memories back," he whispered.

"Only a little bit," I reassured him.

I was so relieved to see him smile instead of casting me out. Our eyes met then, a cataclysm of unsaid words flowing out. I grew hot, yet comfortable, almost flirty in a sense.

"So, Seneca, what are you going to do with me?" I leaned closer.

He was clearly taken aback, "Excuse me?"

"You placed me on the intern list. What does that mean?" I simplified my question.

"Oh, right," he loosened his tie, "Well, it means that you made the cut, but you will not be deployed this Hunger Games. You will, however, accompany one of the escorts to the district and remain present for the Reaping."

"Do I get to choose the district?" I asked.

"That is to be decided. Here is a packet with all the information you need to succeed," he answered, handing over a pink packet.

"Thank you," I leaned over his desk to receive the packet.

On my way across the desk, our sleeves brushed. He stiffened at the impact. I got the impulse to push harder, as if to fall across the desk. In a second, I ended up directly across from him, our faces inches apart. He looked at my eyes then my lips.

"I…" I tried.

We moved closer.

"I…I need to go," I stood up briskly and walked out of the office.


	51. Name Dropping

**Name Dropping**

I threw the door open and left _his _office. He made the motion to get up from behind his desk, but thought better of it and sat back down. My face grew hot, my cheeks glowing bright pink with emphasis from my rouge. I ignored Portia's calls and headed back toward the golden elevator with the intent to speak of nothing with anyone.

"Hey hot-heels, where you headed?" Portia skidded up behind me.

"Away from here," I responded sternly, killing Portia's giddiness.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Nothing, I have a very pleasant encounter. I just realized that I need to go home. That's it, I promise," I rushed out, wishing she had stayed back.

We reached the lobby of the Training Center, and I left without a word of good-bye. Portia shot me a curious look as I stormed out, no doubt feeling hurt. I crossed the grand gardens that exemplified the Training Center and headed out toward my parent's home. The cobbled, colored gravel glowed with splendor as my rushed feet stomped across. After fifteen minutes of heated pacing, I reached their house. Two bold knocks on the mahogany door caused mother to fly out onto the patio.

"Hello, dear," she gushed, "We weren't expecting you."

"Who is Seneca Crane?" I asked, inviting myself in.

"Why he is the Head Gamemaker, of course," mother explained, "He is quite masterful. He designed the arenas for the past four Hunger Games. Quite extensive, I might add."

"I mean, do I know him?" I snapped.

"Did you run into him? Did he say something to you?" mother looked concerned.

"Yes. No. I don't know," I sat on the couch in the parlor, my hands resting on my cheeks, "Where is father?"

"He is in the attic, rifling through some old papers, trying to find out pieces of this grand puzzle," she answered, "Tea, dear?"

"No thank you," I said, heading for the grand steps.

The attic was a rustic, depressing place that I avoided like the plague. Little did I know I spent some quality time up there as a child. Now, the whole entity seemed disgusting. Father lay bent over in concentration, examining boxes with fervor.

"Did you find anything useful?" I pleaded to his back.

"I think I am on the right track. We were married, your mother and I, around thirty years or so, making me quite old," he explained.

"Anything about picture boy? My brother?" I added curiously.

"Nothing yet," father responded grimly, "You here to assist?"

"Afraid not. I am here to add onto the puzzle. Seneca Crane. Ring any bells?" I crouched next to him, placing my delicate hands away from anything that could possibly pass diseases.

"Isn't he that Games fellow? The one who designs arenas?" he inquired.

"Yes. I think that I know him from before," I looked over at father.

Father's eyes had dulled from the attic light. The now appeared gaunt and soulless, somewhere between giving up and lost. The sight frightened me so much, that I had to look away.

"The only thing to do is to look. Our past leads us to the future," he shrugged his shoulders.

I decided to help him. I crossed the room to tackle the plentiful boxes that dominated the other side of the attic. In the first box I opened, a spider crawled out.

"This is vile," I cried out, causing father to laugh.

The second box yielded mortgage statements, official papers from the President, licenses, and car ownership packets. The third revealed hideous lamps that should never see the light of day. The fourth had a fleece made from District 8. I was exhausted by the time I had packed and labeled the fleece.

"Hopeless," I spat, "The whole endeavor will amount to nothing."

"Keep your chin up and your hands nimble," father advised.

I let out an audible sigh and continued to sift through the boxes. Eventually I came across a box of pictures. Curious, I dragged the box out and felt the contents. Hundreds of waxy pictures taken on older cameras. There were photos of dogs, houses, glorious fountains with powerful jets, and Capitol citizens. Finally, I came across one of a younger version of me and my brother.

"I found photos," I announced to father, who opened a box of decorations.

"Anything useful?" he asked, coming over.

"Here is a snapshot of brother and me," I showed him.

When I turned the photo toward him, I discovered untidy scrawling on the back.

"Wait a minute," I whispered, moving the back of the photo into some distant attic light.

_Effie and Alfie getting ready for school_

"Alfie?" I spoke aloud.

Images flashed through my mind one after another. I envisioned playing on swing sets, trips to the park, dinners with the extended family, toys on the floor, and a whole mess of other things. I tried to make sense of this mind vomit, but the spell was gone as quick as it had come on.

"Alfie," I confirmed, "That is his name."

"I remember him," father agreed.

He grew silent and began to look through the pictures. I decided to leave him alone and went downstairs, said good-bye to mother, and left. The City Circle had a registry. The registry would have the names and addresses of all Capitol citizens. That was where I needed to go.

The registry was an old, brick building. It belonged in the historic part of the Capitol, not the City Center. I found myself slightly repulsed by its inferior structure, bulging sides, and decaying bricks. The whole structure smelled of mothballs. I entered the single paned door and found myself face to face with an old secretary.

"Hello," I greeted him, "I am searching for my brother."

"Identification?" the wizened fellow asked.

I dug around my purse for the identification card the President left me. I showed it to the man, who leaned over the desk with thick spectacles. He confirmed my identity and sat back down.

"Name of person in question?" he repeated.

"Alfie Trinket," I answered.

He typed at a snail's pace. The registry behind the desk had some sort of machine that produced codes. The device beeped several times before announcing the results with a ding. The old man shifted his spectacles and pulled an intercom device toward him.

"Citizen number 201891411520, extension code 112695," he announced.

I tapped my fingers impatiently on the desk, annoyed at everything. Ten minutes later, a man walked out of the small door behind the desk. He crossed over to the old man and handed him a folder. The old man overlooked the folder carefully.

"Here you are, miss," he handed me the folder; "We have made a copy of the records for you."

"Thank you," I received the packet and left the registry.

I decided to go to my penthouse and look up the address. My parents seemed too fragile at the discovery of the pictures to have anything to do with this packet. I would look at the address and ask them tomorrow if they would wish to accompany me. I reached my penthouse and greeted the people in the lobby.

My penthouse was unusually dark. I figured that maybe a light had blown a fuse. Maintenance would be called first thing tomorrow. In my bedroom, the window laid open, cool breeze blowing through. I froze and closed it instantly, not recalling it being open upon my departure.

I sat on my bed, fingering the opening to the folder. Just as I peeled back the protective stamp, my nose caught the fragrance of something familiar. _Roses. _I looked around the room hastily and spotted the cause. A rose and note lay on my bedside table. I threw myself across the bed and tossed the rose away. I had to turn on the light to read the message:

_You would be wise to stop now._


	52. Reaping Balls

**Reaping Balls**

The next few days passed slowly. I attained my class schedule and fell into a normal routine. Every morning, I would wake up before the sun had fully risen over the mountains that separated the Capitol from District 2. I would indulge myself with a nutritious breakfast, being sure to get all the essentials. I would devote at least an hour to my hair, make-up, and outfit. After all, appearance was dire.

My morning routine was met with positivity from my neighbors. Often, they would bring me news from the Capitol by means of a local paper. The windows were preset to open at sunlight, cascading my room with eternal beauty. My furniture would glow with a touch from the natural light. I left the penthouse in all its glory to attend my classes. Portia usually met me outside in the veranda. We would discuss classes and then split for the time, her classes being on a different side then mine.

I had four classes: Escorting Etiquette 101, Reaping the Benefits, Managing your Mentors, and Sponsors-What Good are They. Escorting Etiquette, more simply known as 101, met every day for an hour. The professor, a rather proper old woman, expected us to be professional and attend regularly. I walked in there the first day expecting a crowd. However, much to my discovery-and later pleasure-there were only eleven other students in my classes. The eleven other interns and myself would attend classes together, apart from the twelve escorts accepted into the program, or the group of students not accepted into either programs.

Reaping the Benefits dealt with everything we were to expect come time for the Reaping. We were to discuss protocol, the chance of volunteers, and the special circumstances that came along with the Reaping. Managing your Mentors was a class to become familiar with the past victors. We would discover their strengths, discuss ways to gain sponsorship, and how to individually train tributes. Our final class, Sponsors-What Good are They, was by far my least favorite. Even though it lasted only thirty minutes, we had it every day. We discussed ways to get sponsors and were required to model presentations with hopes to gain a mock sponsorship.

"Isn't this fantastic?" Portia found me one day during our lunch hour.

I was sitting in the tribute lunchroom, the very room the tributes ate in once they were picked for the Hunger Games. Portia regularly joined me, usually with a couple of her stylist intern friends in tow.

"More like sadistic," I replied in between bites, "I have a presentation due for Sponsors next week. Can you believe that? We have only been in class for a week."

"Time flies," Portia agreed, "The Hunger Games start in two months. I have barely had time to pick out my outfit for the pre-Games dance."

_Right. The stupid annual pre-Games dance. Every year, one month before the Hunger Games, students at Games school attend a dance of sorts. Hundreds of people from the Capitol try to sneak in to view it. The budget alone is outrageous. _

"I forgot all about the dance," I told Portia, "I have had a lot on my mind."

"Your brother?" she asked quietly.

I nodded. I had told Portia about my progress. Ever since that note though, I had been at a bit of a stalemate. I did not want to pursue anything that could get anyone close to me hurt. Again. Instead, I decided to wait longer, hoping the threats would subside. I told no one about the threats, as I still did not know their source.

"Do you have class this afternoon?" Portia changed the subject.

"I have Reaping in about one hour. Then, I am totally free," I told her.

"Lucky you. I have Styling 101 and Weave it or Leave it," Portia recited.

I laughed at her misfortune and then apologized. I knew classes were a bit of a drag for her. Her class size was nowhere as gracious as mine was. There were two Stylists for every district, so that made twenty-four in the master classes, twenty-four in the intern level classes, and an indescribable number in general classes. I could only imagine the amount in the Gamemaker track or the Prep Team track. I silently thanked myself for choosing the Escort track.

"Anyway, I have got to get going. Madame Trefoil or something wants us to get measured for faux costumes," Portia stood up.

"Bye, dear," I hugged her across the table and she left. I noticed a pair of olive eyes on me. They belonged to that boy I had met outside Seneca's office, Orion. I nodded to him in greeting, and he said something to his friend. He stood up from his table and approached mine.

"This seat taken?" he pointed to where Portia had just stood.

"Not at all," I gestured, "Please, have a seat."

He grinned, rubbed his hands, and sat down. I looked him over tiredly, expecting him to just sit there. Instead, he began to talk excitedly.

"Aren't classes great? I am in the Gamemaker track myself. I have to go through physical training. Can you believe that? What track are you in?" he threw at me.

"Umm," I was startled by his upfront attitude, "I am in the Escort track. I do not need physical training, thank goodness. How are you finding the program?"

"They are alright. I might fail out of one, Inside the Games, or something. You know, Seneca Crane teaches that one himself. I hear he is awfully tough," Orion sighed.

"I do not doubt it. He is a pretty tough guy himself," I laughed.

"Oh yeah? Do you know that for a fact?" Orion teased.

I decided to change the subject, "So what is your class size?"

"You don't want to know something like that," he laughed, "I hear yours is small. My roommate is an Escort. He wants to go to Four or something. Do you have a preference?"

"I never really thought about it," I answered.

We talked for a while, mostly stories about Upper School and our backgrounds. Whenever I had a hard time recalling a memory, I made something up. He seemed pretty interested in everything that I had to say, so I doubted he could tell truths from lies. Or perhaps, he simply did not want to. Either way, we talked for the better part of an hour.

At the end of the hour, I apologized and headed off for classes. Today, I had Reaping for the first time. I had heard reviews about it from other students in my track. One girl told a group of my fellow students that the class was near impossible to pass. Another boy chastised her and told her to stop trying to scare us.

I walked in and took a seat near a window. The view was pretty ordinary, the large gardens looming into sight. A couple walked passed, holding hands and strolling merrily. The room filled up slowly, a dull buzzing turning into a mild roar. Finally, the teacher appeared, and who else but Seneca Crane came strutting in.

"Good morning Escort interns," he nodded his head at each of us, "I am going to take a quick roll call to ensure you are all accounted for. Much like the actual Reaping."

When he got to my name, I muttered 'here' barely loud enough to reach the front of the room.

"I did not quite catch that," Seneca responded.

My face grew red, and my mind sent a mixture of infuriated and embarrassed sparks down my body. I repeated my name louder, and Seneca nodded.

"Now class, I am here to instruct you on the process of the Reaping. All the duties you will be expected to perform and a few circumstances that may arise during your time on the podium. Let's begin, shall we?" he instructed.

The boy in front of me took feverish notes. He jotted almost illegible descriptions of everything Seneca said. Seneca discussed the tessera process and the punishments to those who did not show at the Reaping. When he came to discuss the name drawing, he paused.

"I have here two actual Reaping balls," he showed them to the room, "I have filled one with the names of each of you. We will have a mock Reaping, so I may use that 'tribute' as an example."

I looked at him curiously, a bit frightened by the chance of having to go near him in front of everyone. He dipped his hand into the Reaping ball and pulled out a slip of paper. He looked it over quickly and smiled to himself.

"Effie Trinket," he called out, "Will you do me the honor of joining me?"

_Oh no! Why me? The odds are not in my favor. _I stood up to join him at the front of the room. The female Escorts in the room shot me looks of jealousy. I walked carefully over to him, my heels clicking on the tile.

"Miss Trinket here is sporting an appropriate Reaping outfit. She looks elegant, yet classy," Seneca told the class.

The girls rolled their eyes. A few boys looked me over more carefully.

"Come here," he instructed me, "I want you to help me demonstrate the process."

I neared him, his scent driving me absolutely mad. That flirtatious, inappropriate creature that had leered out at his office had replaced my embarrassment.

"First, we will demonstrate the proper way to draw the names. This must be done with the upmost caution. This is the initial viewing that the Capitol citizens will have of anything related to the Hunger Games. A real Escort uses their talent to build the suspense. One does not simply reach into the ball and grab the first slip they see," he instructed, "Come around to the ball, Effie."

I stood in front of him, the glass Reaping ball waiting. There were more slips of paper, taped neatly and precisely. I felt Seneca behind me, moving closer. He reached around to my front, gently taking my hand in his. I let out a noticeable gasp. A boy in the first row laughed.

"A firm, steady grip is all it takes. You angle your wrist at a ninety degree angle," he forced my wrist into a new position, "And then, you come at the slips, not overlooking a single one."

He tried to force my wrist down, but my hand refused to lower. Seneca breathed in my ear gently, pushing a bit harder. Still, I did not grant him access.

"Come on, Effie," he urged silently, "Touch my ball."

My eyes slammed open and my wrist was forced into the Reaping ball, knocking its contents over onto the ground. I stepped back, Seneca released my hand, and I moved my hands to my mouth. Everyone in the class laughed, Seneca included.

"I think that is enough for today," he chuckled, "Next week, we will discuss the dynamics of the districts."

The other Escorts made way to leave as I returned to the back of the room. I heard a few girls complimenting Seneca on his lesson. One girl giggled absurdly during his acceptance of their praise. I was halfway down the steps and out the door when he urged me back in. We were the only two left in the room.

"Interesting lesson, don't you think?" he asked, leaning against the wall, his arms crossed.

"Umm, quite," I responded, shifting my feet uncomfortably.

"Effie, I don't understand this," he lowered his voice and came closer, "One day, you are practically begging for me, the next I receive the cold shoulder. Am I doing something wrong?"

"No, Seneca. I just…we are in public. You just tried to seduce me in public. Do you have any idea of what you may have just done?" I hissed through gritted teeth.

"Oh, I am sorry if I have ruined your spotless reputation," he snapped.

"Oh, have some class," I rebuked, "You are an administrator. Do you really want to be seen cavorting with a student?"

"Please. You are older than every single one of these interns. The only reason that I didn't accept you into the master's class was because you are out of touch," he moved closer and whispered again, "Besides, I think they enjoyed it."

"Enjoyed what? Your idea of mild sexual perversion? How mature," I responded heatedly.

"Sexual perversion? Effie, we have not even kissed yet. At least….." he began.

"What are you saying?" I slapped his arm.

He caught my arm in that delicate vice grip. I felt my knees go weak and that primitive animal take over. He pulled me closer and in an instant, our lips were on each other. My hands sought out every piece of skin on his face, holding him to the spot. He reached around me with his other hand and held me to him.

"You never left me," he whispered in my ear, "I knew you were always here. Always mine."

I closed my eyes as our lips met again. His strong jaw line, his confident grasp, his taste-I missed it all. I needed it so much. We kissed once more, and then he broke away.

"What was all that about being unprofessional?" he chastised me.

"Seneca," I began.

"No matter, I have to go teach a masters course. My office, tomorrow evening?" he winked at me.

"I….I don't know," I started.

Everything was happening too fast.

"Just say yes, alright? I have to go now," he gathered his suitcase and kissed me on the cheek, "Oh, check out that Reaping ball. I think you are in need of some practice."

He left without another word. I felt infuriation, desire, embarrassment, everything flow through me. I crossed over to the Reaping ball, eager to find what he was on about. Everything seemed relatively normal. I examined the contents carefully, going over the dish with our names in it. One caught my eye, a half opened slip with my name on it. I picked it up, looking it over.

_He must have drawn this slip._ I put it back and grabbed another. Opening it carefully, I received a shock. This slip, too, had my name on it. I went through every slip in the dish, finding my name on every one. _I was always going to be his volunteer. He had purposely picked me. He had planned the whole thing out. Now the only question was, what else did he have planned?_


	53. Mahogany

**Mahogany**

"So he kissed you? Right in the middle of class? How romantic," Portia squealed with girlish delight.

"Of course not, are you absurd? It was after class," I urged her to keep her voice down, because some students by the bookshelves were starting to stare.

"Trivial details, who cares?" she whispered, "Do you think he wants to take you to the pre-Games dance? Ugh, imagine being invited by Seneca Crane. You would be the talk of the town."

"Who cares? I hope this does not get around. I just want a clean reputation," I said matter-of-factly.

It was true. Seneca had caught me completely off guard yesterday. We weren't schoolchildren anymore. He would need to utilize the upmost caution if this relationship were to blossom.

"Should I even bother going today?" I asked Portia, "I mean, who knows what he has on his mind?"

"I think I have a clue," Portia giggled and blushed.

"Grow up," I teased her, "It has been a while. At least I think it has."

I would be lying if I said things with Seneca didn't change me. The second that I walked out of that classroom, memories sprang up like flowers in the spring. Suddenly, I could picture our past. Pieces fell together. I recalled days spent outside, hands clasped delicately, and on occasion, roughly.

Portia sat with me on her lunch break, eager for more news. She had a conniption upon discovering my actions. She immediately jumped into mom mode, praying that I protect myself both emotionally and physically.

"So what are you going to do?" she broke through to my conscious.

"Be myself. I am going to go to his office and see what happens," I stated.

"Good luck with that. Give me details," she smiled and patted my hand.

I felt as if she were being neglected. I had insisted on asking her about classes, a subject she did not breach on her own. She might not even be fitting in with the other Stylists for all I knew. I hoped that she was having a wonderful experience. I vowed to spend more time with her once I figured this whole Seneca thing out.

At five o'clock, I headed through the tribute training center and boarded the golden elevator. I rode it to the lobby and walked down the crooked corridor to Seneca's office. I knew that I would arrive earlier than expected, but in my mind, fashionably early was always a bonus. Without a moment's hesitation, I knocked on the door.

"You are early," he said with a smile as he opened the door.

I stepped cautiously into the dim office. The normal scholastic look had been tossed aside for something more intimate. His desk had been turned sideways, a tablecloth with the royal crest of Panem now sat on top. A candelabra rested in the middle with a candle glowing warmly.

"Please," he gestured toward a chair, "Have a seat."

"This is quite impressive," I observed, taking off my jacket.

He took the jacket from me and hung it over the door handle. He pulled the back of my chair out from behind me, ushering me into the seat. The padding of the chair was made of valor. He crossed to the other side of the desk and sat, spreading his napkin over his chest.

"I hope you are hungry," he said with a grin, "I have prepared a fine meal."

"Well, I do have a mighty appetite," I responded.

His eyes rose in surprise and dual satisfaction. He had prepared in intricate meal, revealing fine seafood for the first course. It was rare to get seafood this time of the year, so it must have come from District 4 itself. We dined with mixed humor and light conversation, leading up to the lighter course of dessert.

"Some fine cake perhaps?" he offered, "Or maybe a pastry?"

"Nothing, thanks. I could not eat another bite," I feigned putting my hands over my stomach to ward away indigestion.

"What are you in the mood for?" he asked carefully.

He had cleared the table, making the dishes and candelabra vanish. The whole top of the table was clear, providing me a straight path toward him. I stood and leaned over the table, similar to the day I met with him to discuss the internship.

"You," I responded, grabbing his tie.

I forced him across the table, pulling his lips to mine. He willingly obliged, half falling onto the tablecloth. His hands found my face, holding me to his. I pulled them down to his sides, wanting to be in control. He crossed over to my side of the table and forced me on top of it, my back meeting the bare mahogany.

"Is this what you want?" he breathed, loosening his tie.

"Yes," I answered, lying against the wood.

He removed my shoes quickly, and I ripped his shirt off. He lifted my skirt above my waist and moved closer, letting me feel his whole body. I traced the grooves in his chest, his strong muscles rippling through.

"Come here," I urged, wanting him all over me.

He kissed me again, our bare fronts touching now. I could feel him tremble with anticipation. He whispered reassurances into my ear, causing shivers to spread. I dug my nails into his back, expecting the pressure to build.

"Are you sure about this?" he whispered into my neck.

"Seneca," I gasped in between breathes, "I want you to make love to me."

"We can wait," he brushed against me.

"I said I want you to make love to me."

"Effie."

"Seneca, please."

He paused.

"What did you say?"

"I said _please. Please, Seneca. Make love to me_."

_What is he waiting for? A written invitation? He courts me for weeks, nearly scaring me half to death and he will not take the bait. _I waited, hoping to feel him. I silently prayed for him to do something. Anything. He just stopped and stared into my eyes, searching for something I did not know. Finally, he released me.

"Effie, I can't. Not like this. You aren't yourself today," he backed away, "I am sorry."

"No, Seneca. I am myself. I need you. I want you. I am here, giving myself so freely to you. Why can't you, you know?" I asked with disappointment.

"It isn't right," he answered, "It isn't right. Not yet."

I sat up on the desk, lowering my dress. I could feel the disappointment and anger sink into the floor. I found my shoes, helping to right the room. Seneca had sat down in his seat, one hand over his eyes. I was almost scared to face him, fearing a confrontation.

"I just want to be with you, you know. You aren't some cheap hooker. You actually mean something to me. I was hoping that we could be together. The way we used to be before you lost your mind. Do you remember that, Effie? Do you remember what it was like before?" he extrapolated.

I froze in my tracks. Never had I expected a love confession of this caliber. I knew that we had history that was made clear. However, I could never fathom the depth of his devotion. The depth and the duration, for after all these years that I had been sick, he had been here, wanting me. The realization almost broke my heart. I rushed over to his chair, taking his hands in mine.

"Seneca, I want to be with you, too. I am lost, yes. But, I need you. To help me rediscover myself. Help me find who I am," I urged, pressing his hand against me, "Please."

He looked into my eyes, showing me two deep pits of undying devotion and underlying passion. He wanted to help me, but neither knew how.

"What can I do?" he mused, "I don't want our first time since-to be like this."

"We can work past that," I agreed, "Help me in other ways."

"How?" he asked.

"Hold me."

He stood, slowly at first, more commanding after. He wrapped his arms around me carefully, as if testing to see if I would break. I twisted those hands around, wanting to feel enveloped by him. I wanted him to engulf me.

"This is nice," I commented.

He remained silent. I grew anxious, as he grew limp. Quickly, I needed to find some way of getting him back here.

"You know, I remember a lot of things, thanks to you," I added, "I remember the trips to the park. The handholding. The intimate moments, too."

He squeezed tighter.

"I can almost remember everything," I smiled into him, "Can you remind me of some things?"

"Like Graduation?" he finally spoke, "At Venia's."

My eyes snapped shut then opened again. _Venia. _That name rang bells, but I could not match it with a face. I knew she had something to do with Alfie though.

"My brother," I whispered.

Seneca released me. He spun me to face him, showing true interest in his eyes. He grew excited again.

"That's it!" he shouted, "They will help you remember."

"Do you really think so?" I contemplated.

"Yes. But only if you're ready," he answered, "Are you ready to see them?"

I paused for a second, the brief message from the penthouse reminding me of dangers. I chewed on my lip for a second, deciding my course of action. Seneca, no doubt, would think that I would be anxious of seeing Alfie. However, I had yet to tell him of the threats. Perhaps, it was better if he did not know. Not yet anyway.

I breathed a deep sigh, everything waited on this answer. If I wanted my memory back, this was the thing to do. If I wanted to possibly ruin everything, this was the course to take. If I wanted Seneca to be mine for good, this needed to be done.

"Yes."


	54. Smooth Criminal

**Smooth Criminal**

We had agreed to meet early in the morning the next day. He would drive over to my penthouse and together we would make the trek. I left his office late; the sun had long since vanished. I spent the night recalling theories and guesses about the people I was to meet. Or rather, become reacquainted with.

My alarm clock rang loudly in the morning. I grumbled and turned, one hand under my silk pillow. I felt hazy, my eyes were shut, and my neck cracked a bit. Then I caught a strange smell. My eyes shot open in panic. _What is that? Fire? Smoke? _

I scrambled out of the bed, tying my robe as I went. The kitchen did not look smoky. In fact, there was no sign of smoke anywhere in the penthouse. I continued my search, expanding into the living room. The coffee maker sat at attention, beeping gently with a fine brew rising.

"But how?" I questioned the coffee maker.

"Do you often question your appliances? Or is it just this morning in particular?" a voice rang out.

I spun around to see Seneca sitting on the couch, one leg crossed, with a steaming mug in his hand. He wore a simple vest and red undershirt. He smiled gently as I crossed over to him.

"What is this? Who let you in?" I breathed.

"When you're the Head Gamemaker, you can indefinitely get anything you want," he grinned fiercely.

While his comment would normally have me swooning as of late, it caught me off guard. I couldn't help but picture the note and the roses. _Was it him leaving these odd trinkets? _I stared at him intently, my eyes blazing with confusion and anger.

"Hey now, Effie," he changed his demeanor, "I'm sorry if I came in uninvited."

"Answer me honestly," I enunciated every word "Is this the first time you have snuck in here?"

"Yes," he responded cautiously, "If I am overstepping my boundaries, I will gladly leave."

He stood up and placed his coffee mug on my table. He shot me a curious glance as he reached for his overcoat. I raised my hand to my mouth and bit gently on my thumbnail.

"I guess I will be seeing you around," he called over his shoulder.

"Someone has been breaking in."

He spun around and raised his eyebrows in surprise.

"And you think it's me?"

It was a question, not an accusation. However, it stung like the latter.

"How should I know? They've been leaving cryptic messages and roses. I just want to be on my guard," I answered, looking at the ground.

Seneca walked back over, his eyebrows knitted together in concentration. He moved past and pulled another coffee mug from a cabinet. After pouring in some delicious smelling coffee, he handed me the mug.

"I think you are overreacting. Here, drink some coffee," he sat next to me.

Fury built up inside me. I wanted to reach over and slap him. Instead, I raised the mug to my lips and inhaled the substance. Seneca reached down and grabbed a pen out of his vest. He began to scribble something on the palm of his hand.

_It's not safe here. Drink the coffee. Then, let's get out quick._

I took note of his message and calmly proceeded to drink. He quickly rubbed his hands together after I nodded that I had received his message. I should have known better than to suspect Seneca. He stood up and grabbed his mug. He proceeded to wash his dish in my sink.

"Well, I am sorry that you are so angry at me. I hope this doesn't interfere with our plans today," he called out to me.

"Oh right. Where exactly are we going?" I spoke out from behind the rim of the cup.

"Surprise. Hand me your mug and I will wash it while you get dressed," he responded.

I crossed to him, handing him my mug. His palms were clean, no writing to be seen. He winked, and I smiled. I got dressed quickly, choosing a simple sundress and blue flats. I grabbed my purse with all my necessaries and closed my bedroom door.

"Are we ready?" he asked with eagerness.

"Yes," I nodded.

I took note of the rooms in their state, willing myself to memorize even the insignificant details. I wanted to immediately spot any differences for my return. Seneca guided me out of the room, locking the door firmly behind him.

When we reached his car, he opened the passenger door and gestured for me to sit. I got in and fastened my seatbelt. Seneca jumped over the door and started the car. We sped away from the penthouse at a great speed.

"What was that all about?" I asked when we were a reasonable distance away.

"Your apartment has been bugged. Why didn't you say anything earlier?" he asked.

"I didn't think it important. What do you mean bugged?" I responded with wary.

"It's President Snow. That's his trademark, the roses. He must have snuck into your penthouse and set up microphones or video cameras or something," Seneca explained.

"Why?" I asked.

"Because," Seneca turned to look at me, "he has been after us for years."

I faced forward, trying to take in this bit of information. Seneca sounded so sincere.

"That's how all this began," he continued on, "Your change, I mean."

"What?" I looked at him again.

He was silent for a moment. His hands gripped the wheel tighter as we headed away from the City Circle.

"A long time ago, we stumbled across a secret. We being you, your brother, my sister, and me. We found out that your father had written an essay demeaning the Hunger Games. It threatened the whole position of the Games, the presidency, and the Capitol itself. We set out to find the essay and confront Snow. One night, you and I had a bit of a disagreement and you set off for Snow on your own. We never saw you again, until you showed up for orientation."

I saw images of the mansion. The confrontation. The essay. Everything became clearer, except the words Seneca said. His description did not match my images.

"Why can't I remember?" I quietly asked.

"He must have hijacked you. The process erases memories by writing over them with more painful stimulations," he explained.

"How long?"

"How long what?" he asked.

"How long was I in there? How long did you leave me with him? How long did you abandon me?" I raged.

He became very quiet. I glared at him with anger radiating from every pore. A single tear dropped out of his eye. I did not care. He deserved every bad feeling that he was now experiencing.

"A very long time," he finally responded, "6 years."

"You left me there with him. You abandoned me for 6 whole years," I reiterated.

"Effie, there was nothing I could do. They were going to kill my family. Your family," he stated.

I simply stared at him.

"They came to my house. They threatened me. I told them 'go ahead, do your worst'. They told me that they knew where Venia and Alfie lived. She was pregnant, Effie, with our nephew. I couldn't do anything without risking their lives. My sister, your brother, parents, our nephew. Nothing. So I waited it out."

"Is that why you became so bitter?" I asked quietly.

"Yes. I put myself into my work and soon became Head Gamemaker. I wanted to see people suffer. I hated the President, but I hated myself more. Anger fuels hate and hate is a very powerful thing. I wanted everything to burn."

"I never knew," I whispered, "Seneca, I am so sorry."

"No, Effie. I am sorry. We could have done more. I could have done more. It was my fault you left in the first place. I proposed to you and you declined."

As his words came to me, I saw it. He stood there on his balcony, allowing me to break his heart. The pain etched across his features. I could not think of a thing to say. We rode in silence for many minutes. The landscape turned to hills and trees from buildings and streets.

"Seneca," I tried.

"We're here," he responded, turned off the car, and exited.


	55. Welcome Home

**Welcome Home **

I gave myself a reassuring shake and turned to face the house. House, however, was a bit of an understatement. In the front, large elaborate windows led into a grand foyer. The siding of the house was made of quarry imported from District 2 itself. I exited Seneca's car and followed his retreating form to the front door.

Seneca reached the door and knocked twice. I caught up, feeling guilty and nervous. He gave me a curt nod and a simple smile, his hands assuming a protective position. We waited for about a minute before the door opened slowly. I had no idea what to expect.

A young boy opened the door with a cheery grin on his face. He had dark sandy hair with royal blue eyes. Upon noticing Seneca, the boy's grin turned into one of ecstasy.

"Uncle Seneca!" the boy let out, enveloping Seneca around him for a hug.

"Well look at you," Seneca smiled into the boy's hair.

He lifted the boy straight off the ground and carried him into the foyer. I stood awkwardly outside until Seneca gestured with his free hand for me to enter. He shut the door behind him gently and let the boy down. I felt the boy's questioning glance fall on me and looked to Seneca for help.

"Cori, this is your aunt, Effie Trinket," Seneca guided.

"Pleasure to meet you, young man," I smiled gently.

Cori looked me over once, cautiously peeking around me for signs of danger. I observed his clothing; an affinity for vests like his uncle. Cori stuck his hand out as a polite offer of greeting. I took it and gave it a firm shake.

"I've heard a lot about you," he stated.

I felt bad, because I hadn't heard of him until the car ride over. I smiled awkwardly, hoping that he'd get bored and find something to do. I was never one for entertaining children.

"Well, I hope what you have heard is good," I tried.

He looked me firmly in the eyes and squeezed my hand. I released it embarrassedly. Seneca grinned and shooed him away, telling him to find some toys. Cori walked away without another glance.

"Venia? Where are you?" Seneca called aloud.

"In the kitchen," came a woman's voice.

Seneca started toward the kitchen, and I followed quickly. I tried to get Seneca's attention, but he let nothing distract him. He threw open the kitchen door and a woman near a row of counter spun around.

"Careful," she warned, "Don't you break my house now."

"Oh, please," he responded, "Like a great architect such as you would design a house that could fall at my touch."

"Stop," she waved his comment away and embraced him warmly.

Over his shoulder, she noticed me. There was a moment when our eyes connected and I felt as though I had never left. Her warm features, enveloped by Seneca's slumping shoulder reminded me of happier times. Times that I could recall fondly. I stepped forward slowly, hoping that she would make the first move.

"Oh my," she said, "You didn't tell me."

"Surprise," Seneca stated, stepping out of the way.

He left us in full sight of each other.

"Effie," she said, tears pooling in her eyes.

"Venia," I responded.

She ran forward and embraced me deeply. I felt her warmth radiate from around the house into my soul. She shuddered a bit from what I could only guess were tears. I grasped her tighter, not wanting to let go.

"It's been so long," she whispered.

"I know, I know," I responded, "But I am here now."

We remained in that position for minutes, desperately clutching at one another.

"Why don't you two have a seat in the living room? I am just fixing dinner. Alfie isn't home yet," she prompted.

I released her and sent her a gracious smile. Seneca led the way into the living room and offered me a seat.

"I thought you were mad at me," I hissed through gritted teeth.

"Not after an embrace like that," he shrugged his shoulders, "I always will want to know why though."

"Not here," I stopped him quickly.

He shot me a glance that seemed to question everything about me, but dismissed it quickly. Cori ran back into the room, eliciting a displeased scolding from Venia. She entered moments later and sat on a couch across from us, Cori in her lap.

"Effie, have you met Coriolanus?" she asked gently, smoothing the hair on his head.

"We have been acquainted," I confirmed.

"Cori, Aunt Effie used to live with me," Venia told him, "In fact, she used to sleep in your room."

"Really?" Cori's eyes brightened.

"It did not have action figures thrown about though," she told him.

Cori laughed gently. He leaned over toward me with a passionate glance.

"Do you want to see them?" he asked suddenly.

"See who?" I looked around the room.

"My action figures," Cori stated.

Without giving me a chance to accept or decline, he seized my arm and led me toward his bedroom. Venia and Seneca laughed as he dragged me up the steps. We stopped at the familiar bedroom, the slight slope in the ceiling over where my bed used to rest. The room was painted a bright blue color with action figures lining the walls. I noticed that my vanity no longer occupied the space. Now, a large chestnut wardrobe commanded attention.

"Here is Mr. Moon from those moon comics," he started, pointing out figurines as he went, "And here is the mighty Alto. I used to have one of the President, too."

"The President?" I asked, sitting on the edge of his bed.

"Yeah, he came in a special box with two ribbons on it. Mom said he was too expensive though. Dad put up a really good fight," Cori said from the floor.

"Dad did?" I smiled.

"Do you remember my dad?" Cori suddenly asked his full attention on me.

"Of course I do," I reassured him, "He's my brother. We grew up together."

"But how come you haven't come over before? Uncle Seneca comes over all the time."

I didn't know to answer his question honestly. I remained silent for a few seconds, Cori's eyes branding into mine, demanding an answer.

"I've been…sick."

"Sick like the flu?" he asked curiously.

"Something like that," I went with his answer.

He quickly lost interest in his query. He turned back to his action figures and continued to show me who was who. Suddenly, he perked up again. I observed that he was easily startled.

"What's wrong?" I asked sharply.

"Dad's home!" Cori shouted, making a beeline for the bedroom door.

I was left alone in his bedroom with no one but Mr. Moon and Alto to keep me company. I tidied up his toys, and then made my way out of the room. I could hear loud clinking from downstairs and Cori's excited yelping. There was the sound of a shuffle, then absolute silence. Quietly, I made my way down the steps.

Four pairs of eyes met me. Cori smiled gently in the arms of my brother. Alfie caught my gaze and held it with wonder, pride, and a bit of pain. He handed Cori to Venia and crossed over to me.

Neither one of us spoke throughout the embrace. I felt tears well up in my eyes and buried my face into his shoulder. He patted my back with reassurance.

"It's been so long," he finally spoke, pulling me back to observe me.

I laughed and wiped my tears with the back of my hand. I realized that I would look like a complete mess, slobbering and weeping all over the living room.

"You look good," he observed, "Well, I'm not saying that you ever looked bad. Except when we were younger. I remember you coming home some days looking real rough."

He looked over to Seneca, who smiled gently albeit Venia's eye roll. I was at a complete loss for words. I swung my hands in his and kept smiling.

"Well, you seem to have become quieter in the time that you've been gone. An improvement, I assure you," he teased.

"Shut up," I gently pushed him and he laughed.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" Alfie questioned Seneca with this one.

"I think we have a bit of catching up to do," he smiled gently and looked over toward me.


	56. It's All Coming Back

**It's All Coming Back**

"Incredible," mused Alfie as I finished relaying my story.

"How horrible. Why can't Snow leave us alone?" Venia shook her head in disapproval.

"You were right," Alfie nodded toward Seneca.

I shot Seneca a look of curiosity. He had crossed his legs patiently throughout the duration of my retelling. He looked toward me now, his hand covering his mouth in concentration.

"Right about what?" I directed him.

"I had the suspicion that Snow was tailing you. Tailing all of us it seems."

"But why?" I vented, "I have no information for him since the hijacking. I couldn't recall anything after the procedure anyway."

Seneca stood and paced the room, his hands clasped tightly behind his back.

"Perhaps, he suspected we were a part of something much larger. An alliance of some sort."

The three of us sat stunned in silence. Seneca unclasped his hands and held them upright in front of him.

"It would make sense," he continued, "After all, he had a queer reaction for a one-time issue. Perhaps he has feared a rebellion since the beginning. The Hunger Games does not sit well with the districts. It would be natural for those with nothing to lose to rebel. Those without anything have the greatest advantage. Those with nothing have everything."

"How do you mean?" I spoke quietly.

He humored me and crossed closer.

"When you have nothing to lose, things like regrets-doubts, insecurities, or risks-they become meaningless. One who has nothing can lose nothing they care about, because those things are already gone. The families and friends of those pulled into the Games care not for themselves; they care for those who are gone. Every time their loved one's face appears, nothing else matters. The simplest form of destruction is breaking someone down from the inside out. As a Gamemaker you learn these things."

Again no one could speak. Seneca appeared flustered and out of breath. His eyes looked dark, intense with the fury he felt.

"You're scaring me," Venia shifted uncomfortably.

"Calm down," I suggested mildly.

Seneca grew angrier. He practically jumped over the couch to seize me by the shoulders. I was taken aback by his gesture, the force he utilized as his hands gripped my biceps tightly. Alfie started forward instinctively but paused. I questioned Seneca and his grip slackened. Instead of letting go though, he inched his face closer to mine.

"Don't you see what's happening? He's tracking us. He's tracking us through you, Effie," he said.

"What? That's impossible," I dismissed his idea.

Seneca kicked over the coffee table that sat in front of me. I slid back in fear, and Alfie rose to his feet. Seneca raised his hands defensively and balled them into fists.

"It's happening. We can't have you around here. We can't have you at Games school," Seneca yelled out.

"If I leave, he will definitely know something is up!" I yelled back, rising to his level.

He backed off then, as I stood. He was not trying to be physically imposing I gathered. I could feel heat radiating from him, so I kept my distance. His words, however, were offending.

"So what are we going to do?" Venia whispered.

"I don't know. All I know is that I don't want to lose you again," I looked toward Seneca, "Any of you."

He simply stared back, still very angry. It was clear that thoughts invaded his mind. Bad thoughts that wanted me gone. Seneca chewed on his cheek for a minute, and then made up his mind.

"Fine. Stay here and see what comes of it. But I refuse to be a part of it again," he spat as he exited the house.

Watching him go, I felt my breath quicken and my heart stop. I chased after him, leaving Alfie and Venia stunned on their couch. I followed his retreating form outside the house. He threw open his door and started to get in.

"What's your problem?" I screamed at him from the edifice.

"I refuse to answer any of your questions. I will not have you slandering everything I have worked for. Everything that your brother and my sister have built. I will not be the cause of their destruction as you were the cause for mine," he responded and shut the door.

By the time I reached his window, he had started the car and turned on the lights. The surrounding air was dark with the newly sought sundown. The lights caused my shadow to hover over the garage door he had parked in front of. I slammed my fist against the window.

"Come on!" I screeched.

He paused inside the car and rolled down the window. His eyes were red at this point. I couldn't tell if that was from anger or some refraction of light.

"Why are you so angry at me?" I hissed.

"Because I love you, alright!"

The words sounded foreign, but they were enough to glue me to the stop. I tried to speak, but nothing came out. He appeared defeated, his face finally showing the effects of the outbursts.

"I love you and I don't want you to leave again."

"So why are you trying to send me away?" I cried out with free-falling tears.

"Because I have nothing left. You won't be with me. You aren't ever going to be with me. That is clear to me now," he answered, not meeting my eyes.

"You don't know that," I cried and shook, "I just need time. I…I don't know what I need. But, we could try, Seneca. We could. We could make it, just like before. I'm sure that we could-"

"No," he responded flatly.

"But-"

"Effie, look at us. We gave it a great run, but the truth is that I don't know who you are anymore. When you first showed up, I was so relieved. I thought we could relive every memory that once was, but being here with you now, I understand more than I did then. We will never be free. I will earn the reputation of a cold, heartless killer. As those families in the districts already scream for my blood, my reputation will grow until those in the Capitol feel the same way. My anger, my desire to see the world burn, it's all stemming from the hate I have. The hate against Snow for what he did to you. What he did to us."

I couldn't speak because my brain had exited into the frenzy of spots surrounding my head. Seneca droned on for another minute, but I could not comprehend his words. I tried harder and caught the end of his rant.

"-way I know there is somewhere out there. A rebellion of sorts. And I am going to find it. I am going to contact those in the districts and all hell will break loose. I will see the destruction of Snow personally. When that day comes, the day that I usurp our corrupt President, I will have you back once and for all."

I nodded to show that I acknowledged his ending. He closed his eyes and took my hand through the window. Raising it to his lips, he gave it a soft kiss and released. I clutched my marked hand to my chest as he rolled up the window and left the driveway, leaving me alone to watch him leave.


	57. Radioactive

**Radioactive**

I turned to go back into the house, my heart sinking with every step. Seneca was gone; he would not return willingly. My eyes shut in disgust and disbelief. I let out a shaky breath and reentered the house. Alfie held a nervous Venia on the couch, their eyes raking over me as I stepped in.

"Where's Seneca?" Venia breathed out.

"He's gone."

I continued through the living room, seeking out my personals. Venia let out an audible swallow. Alfie stood up off the couch and ran to my side.

"Did he hurt you?" he breathed in my ear.

"Just the opposite," I responded, grabbing my handbag.

I had no clue where to go, but I couldn't stay there. I made to exit the house when Alfie grabbed me lightly by the wrist.

"Don't do this," he ordered.

"Do what?" I looked him square in the eye, "Seneca's right. I won't put you or your family in danger any more. I need to go."

"You are my family," he reassured me.

"Once," I reminded him.

He snapped his mouth shut and continued to hold me tight. He was sure of my inevitable leave. I kissed him on the cheek and walked back into the living room. Walking over to Venia, I took her hand in mine and patted it.

"Thank you once again for your hospitality. You have a lovely home and family. Take care," I urged her.

She nodded silently, unsure of what to say. I got up and heard movement from the steps. Looking up, I saw Cori watching me. I gave him a proper nod and left the house.

I started walking away from their house. The sun had set nicely behind the skyline of the city. Here in the outskirts, I could hear foreign noises. Things like nature and tranquil pieces of non-urban life came out to set my troubled mind at ease. I decided to call Portia. She would know a solution. My communicator lay at the bottom of my purse, which I promptly hoisted up and leafed through.

"Effie!" came a voice from her end.

"Hello, darling. Are we enjoying the weekend?" I questioned.

"So-so. Nothing too exciting at this point. How's your weekend with Seneca going?" she responded.

I bit my lip, forgetting that I had warned Portia of our date. At the mention, I cringed.

"Not well. As it turns out, I'm stranded on the outskirts. Can you arrange me a ride?"

"Uh-oh. Sure thing. I'll be there soon."

I closed the communicator and sat on the curb. Alfie and Venia's house lay a little ways up the road. In retrospect, I regretted not asking one of them for a ride. However, I decided that if I were to truly abandon the family, I could not rely on them for anything.

I clicked my shoes together to pass the time. In my handbag, I found something sweet to chew on. It got cold during the wait as the sun sank. I scoped the area looking for something to pass the time.

On the opposite side of the street, I spotted a strange looking car. On the front, I recognized the seal of Panem. My head shifted to get a better look. For a minute, I contemplated getting to my feet and taking a closer look. In the car sat a man. A dark man with binoculars; binoculars that were focused directly on me.

I shifted uncomfortably at this realization. Seneca's words of presidential pressures returned. Nervously, I took out my communicator again and contacted Portia.

"Where are you?" I questioned quietly.

"On my way, hold yourself steady," she responded, "I just left the city limits."

"I don't want to worry you," I started, "But I think I am being followed. Followed or watched."

"What?"

"A man is watching me from across the street."

"Are you looking at him?"

My eyes suddenly snapped to the man. He met me with the binoculars.

"Yes."

"Well don't, you idiot," she rushed, "Look, I'm hurrying. Why don't you try to get away from the area?"

"Good idea. See you soon."

I closed the communicator again and hurried onto the pavement, avoiding the man with the binoculars. My shoes were starting to cause me a bit of pain. In the event of a perusal, I decided they would be the first thing to go. My handbag hung limply from one arm as I strutted down the street. Over my shoulder, I could hear the car tires squealing along with me.

Soon, I came upon a diner. The Capitol was famous for having the most luxurious spots in all of Panem. Whoever had made that assumption had clearly never seen the diners of the outskirts. Believing that a public appearance would cause my follower to disappear, I hopped in quickly.

The joint was bustling. It reminded me of the pub I had accidently ventured into during my youth. The one that caused me to end up at Seneca's, drunk out of my mind and rambling. Dark figures played pool in one corner while a shabby bar lay against the opposite wall.

A look out the dirty window told me that my stalker was nowhere to be seen. I let out a breath of relief and made my way to a quiet corner. I pulled out my communicator and tried to contact Portia. I figured that she would have to be close. She never answered. Suddenly, the door to the diner opened and the man with the binoculars stepped in.

I let out an audible gasp and hit the ground. Hoping that he hadn't spotted me, I crawled on the floor of the diner to the back wall near the pool tables. The man looked around the room curiously. I stayed hidden against the wall, smirking inside my head at him for I had the advantage here. He moved to the bar.

I searched the diner for an alternative exit. A wooden door lay on the opposite side of the bar. If I were to sneak over there, I would need to utilize the upmost caution. The man sat on a stool, searching the room with vigor. After a couple of minutes, he decided to check another location and headed off toward the bathrooms.

I moved quickly. Reaching the bar within seconds, I dropped back to the floor. The man suddenly appeared to my left. Luckily, a female patron blocked his sight from me.

"Can I help you, sir?" directed the bartender to the sneak.

"No," he responded gruffly.

"May I ask what business you have here?" the bartender continued, "This bar is only for patrons."

"I'm waiting for my wife, okay?" he snapped back.

The bartender did not appreciate his tone. He set down the cleaning rag he held and the mug of sloppy, half-drunken beer and moved closer to the man.

"Is that so?" he asked, cracking his knuckles.

"Yes. Back off, buddy," the man threatened.

"Let's see a picture of her then."

The man sat stock still for a minute. He exhaled sharply and opened his wallet. In the money portion of the wallet, he took out a folded piece of paper. I craned my neck to get a better glimpse. Unsurprisingly, I recognized the photo as a picture of me.

The bartender glanced the paper over once. I felt anxious. I knew that we had made some sort of eye contact since I had been here. The bartender remained unconvinced. For a minute, I contemplated running in full view out of the diner.

"She left about two minutes ago," the bartender finally said.

The man perked up at his words. He sneered and turned to face the bartender full in the face.

"Well why didn't you say anything earlier?" he snapped and headed out.

I let out a shaky breath as the stalker left. The bartender watched him leave. I hid my face as the man walked past me. Once he had made his departure, the bartender approached me cautiously.

"I suggest the back door. Quickly."

"Thank you," I whispered and slipped out the back door.

I tried to contact Portia again. She picked up frantically.

"Where the hell are you?" she practically screamed.

"Back door. Hurry up," I urged.

By the time I hung up the communicator, she had appeared with her car.

"Get in," she urged throwing the door open.

"Step on it. He's around the corner," I told her.

Portia threw the car in gear and spun around the diner. I buckled in and silently thanked Portia for her ability to save me in every situation. She began to question me about the happenings of the past day, but I couldn't concentrate on her questions.

Suddenly, I spotted it. The car with the seal of Panem on it. The car was a few spots away, humming calmly down the road. At this point, I was unclear of whether or not he was following.

"Portia," I warned her, "Behind us."

Her eyes grazed our surroundings and she recognized our target.

"Hold on," she said and threw the car into overload.

We sped up quickly, flying down the road at top speed. The other cars took notice and moved out of the way. Instantly, I knew we had caught his attention. His headlights appeared out of nowhere, scanning every part of the car. He sped up and caught the side out our car.

I glanced out my window where he was fast approaching. In an instant, I saw him. He wore an angry grimace and fierce, hateful eyes. I let out a gasp as he pulled out an object-a camera. Without ever letting go of the wheel, he snapped my picture.

"Hurry up!" I screamed to Portia.

"I'm trying," she spat back.

"He's gaining on us," I urged.

Portia sped along and within moments we had reached the sanctum of the City Circle. I glanced over and received a real shock. The car with the seal and the man inside were nowhere to be seen.

"_Pull over!" _I yelled to Portia with terror.

"What?" she squeaked.

"He's gone. The man. He's gone."

"What are you talking about? He was right here," she responded.

"No," I shook my head desperately, "No. He's gone. We're alone."

We were stranded on the middle of the dark street. Alone.


End file.
